s 


LIBRARY 


UNIV 

Cf     ?• 


TY  OF 

NlA 


SAN  DIEGO 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIF.GO 
by 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MR.    JOHN  C.   ROSE 


donor 


HANDY-VOLUME  SERIES. 

No.  I. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS, 


BY 


F.    C.    BURNAND. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 


BY 


F.    C.    BURN  AND, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  NEW  HISTORY  OF  SANDFORD  AND  MBRTON," 
"  MY  HEALTH,"  &c. 


BOSTON: 
ROBERTS  BROTHERS. 


PREFACE. 


T  T  7HETHER  it  will  be  a  Happy  Thought  to 
V  V  write  a  preface  to  any  book,  big  or  little,  is  a 
general  question  which  will,  I  suppose,  remain  for- 
ever undecided  :  the  jury,  composed  partly  of  writers, 
partly  of  readers,  being  unable  to  agree  upon  a 
unanimous  verdict.  It  seems  to  me  that  there  is  the 
same  difficulty  as  to  Apologies.  Nor  does  it  facili- 
tate the  matter  to  write  a  preface  which  shall  be  an 
apology,  or  to  call  that  an  apology  which  ought 
simply  to  be  a  preface.  Let  me  put  it  down,  then, 
as  a  Happy  Thought  to  call  these  few  lines  in  advance 
an  Introduction.  An  Introduction  !  But,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  for  we  have  met  before,  you  require  no 
introduction  —  Mr.  Punch  has  already  appeared  as  the 
Third  party.  We  (not  the  editorial  "  we,"  but  you  and 
I,  my  good  readers,  confidentially,  if  it  so  please  you) 
will,  then,  consider  the  introduction  over ;  we  know 
one  another,  and  I  am  inclined  to  be  communicative. 
These  Happy  Thoughts  were  commenced  by  the  side 


viii  PREFACE. 

of  a  delicious  river  (from  which  position  I  was  driven 
by  perpetual  barge-ropes  and  horses),  were  continued 
in  the  lovely  gardens  of  two  counties  (one  being  less 
famous  for  wasps  and  hornets  than  the  other),  and  in 
the  course  of  a  year  grew  gradually  into  their  present 
shape. 

Impressed  by  the  river  and  the  gardens,  I  had 
originally  noted  down  my  jottings  as  "  Happy  Thoughts 
collected  in  Happy  Hours,"  and  intended  merely  a  few 
chapters  of  observations,  not  on  men  but  insects,  a 
method  of  teaching  by  illustration  of  which  I  need 
hardly  say  I  am  not  the  originator,  who  indeed  had  fair 
warrant  for  noting  it  down  as  a  Very  Happy  Thought. 
Somewhere  about  the  third  or  fourth  chapter  this  idea 
was  abandoned  entirely. 

You  see,  I  had  as  it  were  made  my  balloon,  filled  it 
with  gas,  labelled  it  as  just  stated,  and  then  wanted  it 
to  go  in  one  particular  direction.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  My 
insect  arrangements  held  the  car  down  to  the  earth  with 
strongest  cable  power,  and,  as  the  wind  would  n't  change, 
I  determined,  as  a  Happy  Thought,  to  accommodate 
myself  to  the  wind.  Having  settled,  therefore,  my  prob- 
able course  and  the  most  likely  point  of  descent,  I  cut 
my  ropes,  and  away  we  went,  sailing  easily  until  my  first 
Haven  was  in  view.  Which  first  Haven  is  the  Finis  of 
this  series  of  Happy  Thoughts  ;  for  it  will  be  seen  that 


PREFACE.  ix 

these  Happy  Thoughts  end  with  the  Happy  Thinker's 
marriage.  Is  there  any  covert  satire  in  this  ?  On  my 
word,  no ;  as  you  shall  see  if  in  the  course  of  time  I  can 
put  before  you  the  Happy  Thoughts  of  my  ideal  Jotter, 
in  the  character  of  Benedick,  the  married  man. 

So  far  together  you  and  I,  who  have  met  before.  Do 
I  not  know  you  will  give  me  a  hearty  welcome,  coming 
with,  as  it  were,  letters  of  credit  from  an  old  friend 
whom  you  have  known  for  some  years  over  and  above 
a  quarter  of  a  century  ? 

Now,  will  you  introduce  me  to  your  friends  here, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  whom,  before  now,  I  have  not 
had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  ?  Delighted,  I  am  sure. 
One  word.  Do  not  expect  too  much  from  this  little 
volume,  which,  for  its  size  alone,  not  its  merit,  might 
form  one  of  the  four  volumes  of  the  Idler's  Breviary  for 
the  four  quarters  of  the  year.  Can  we  put  another 
quarter  into  next  leap  year,  my  lady,  and  name  it  the 
fifth  volume  ?  Remembering,  sir,  whose  works  received 
this  title,  you  will  mark  well  that  I  claim  rank  among 
them  for  this  volume  by  reason  of  its  size,  —  its  size 
only,  nothing  more. 

Nor,  my  dear  sir,  must  you,  as  a  new  acquaintance, 
expect  to  find  any  new  Pensees  among  these  pages : 
assuredly  you  will  be  disappointed.  I  do  not  put  them 
down  as  Deep  Thoughts  ;  nor  Night  Thoughts.  They 


x  PREFACE. 

are,  assuming  such  situations  as  our  Jotter  finds  himself 
placed  in,  just  such  thoughts  as  would  happily  occur  to 
ninety-nine  out  of  a  hundred  of  us  when  acting  upon 
the  impulse  of  the  moment.  For  instance  :  suppose 
Jones  and  Robinson  go  over  a  gate  into  a  field,  when 
they  suddenly  come  upon  a  mad  bull  also  suddenly 
coming  upon  them.  They  escape.  Let  us  examine  the 
separate  jottings  in  their  minds'  note-books  :  don't  you 
think  they  would  run  thus  ?  — 

Jones's  Note.  Saw  mad  bull.  Happy  Thought. 
Get  back  over  the  gate  again. 

Robinsoris  Note.  Saw  mad  bull.  Happy  Thought. 
Get  back  over  gate  again. 

Jones's  Note.  Happy  Thought.  Get  over  before 
Robinson. 

Robinsoris  Note.  Happy  Thought.  Get  over  before 
Jones. 

This  may  not  be  heroic,  but  I  fancy  it 's  true  "  for  a' 
that."  Moreover  you  Ve  got  the  whole  anecdote  before 
you  in  four  Happy  Thoughts. 

After  all,  in  such  cases,  we  are  not  heroic.  The 
hundredth  is  :  not  number  one. 

So,  my  new  acquaintances,  you  now  know  what  to 
expect  in  these  Happy  Thoughts,  which  leave  much 
to  the  reader's  imagination,  and  everything  else  to  his 
good-will. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   I. 

PAGE 

THOUGHTS  IN  TOWN. — THOUGHTS  IN  COUNTRY. — WASPS. 

—  ON   THE  GRASS I 

CHAPTER   II. 

IN   THE   COUNTRY. — THOUGHTS   ON    FLIES. —BATS.  —  PET 

ANIMALS 9 

CHAPTER    III. 

ON    GHOSTS.  —  ON    RATS.  —  ON    GEESE.  —  GAME    COCKS.  — 

THE  FERRET II 

CHAPTER   IV. 

COMMENCEMENT   OF    MY   GREAT   WORK.  —  BY  THE    RIVER. 

—  THE    SOLITARY    IN    THE    PUNT.  —  BARGES.  —  EAR- 
WIGS.—  THE  RETREAT 1$ 

CHAPTER  V. 

ON   DIBBLING  AND  SNIGGLING 22 

CHAPTER  VI. 

PROSPECT  OF  FEUDAL  CASTLE.  —  BOODELS'S  FIRST  APPEAR- 
ANCE. —  AN  OLD  FRIEND. — THE  EXACT  TIME. — AR- 
RIVAL AT  BOODELS  WITH  BOODELS  OF  BOODELS  .  2^ 


xii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

CHEZ  BOODELS  OF  BOODELS.  —  LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC 
EVENING.  —  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  MILBURD. — BOO- 
DELS'S  POETRY 35 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

STILL    CHEZ    BOODELS. — THE    DOGS.  —  PROCEEDING  WITH 

TYPICAL  DEVELOPMENTS.  —  ON   INDISTINCT  NOTES       .        43 

CHAPTER   IX. 

ON  POCKET-BOOKS.  —  PROGRESS  OF  TYPICAL  DEVELOP- 
MENTS.—  INTERRUPTIONS  .  .  .  •  /  •  51 

CHAPTER  X. 

CHEZ  BOODELS.  —  AFTER-DINNER  SIESTA.  —  A  PRIVATE 
READING.  —  A  NIGHT  WITH  THE  DOGS. — REPARTEE- 
ISM. —  LEAVING  BOODELS 59 

CHAPTER   XI. 

FROM    THE    LONDON    TERMINUS    TO    CHOPFORD    STATION, 

AND  FARTHER  THAN  THAT 68 

CHAPTER   XII. 

SLUMBOROUGH  FOR  CHOPFORD.  —  RAILWAY  SUGGESTIONS. 
—  OFFICIALS.  —  CARRIAGE  FOR  FURZE  LODGE.  —  A 
LIVE  DUKE 74 

CHAPTER   XIII. 

NOTES    WRITTEN     DOWN     SOON     AFfER     MY    ARRIVAL     AT 

FRASER'S.  —  i    MEET   SOME   YOUNG    LADIES.  —  CRO- 
QUET. —  CHILDREN .       84 


CONTENTS.  jriii 

CHAPTER    XIV. 

DINNER-PARTY  AT  ERASER'S.  —  THE  GENERAL.  —  I  OBLIGE 

THE  COMPANY  WITH  A   SONG 94 

CHAPTER    XV. 

STILL  AT  ERASER'S.  —  PROGRESS  OF  THE  GREAT  WORK. — 
I  THINK  OF  THE  YOUNGER  MISS  SYMPERSON.  — 
NIGHT  THOUGHTS.  —  INTERVIEW  WITH  A  COUNTRY 
POLICEMAN IO5 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

AT  FRASER'S.  —  i  HAVE  A  TETE-A-TETE  WITH  FRIDOLINE 

AND  LOSE  AN  OPPORTUNITY. — A  STRANGE  ANNOUNCE- 
MENT        113 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

I    RECEIVE    A    SUMMONS.  —  A    CONSULTATION.  —  I    LEAVE 

FURZE  COTTAGE  ON   IMPORTANT   BUSINESS   .  .          .      122 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

STILL 'ON  URGENT  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS.  —  A  JUVENILE  SO- 
LICITOR.—  I  DINE  WITH  MILBURD,  AND  SPEND  A 
CONVIVIAL  EVENING 129 

CHAPTER    XIX. 

NEXT  MORNING.  —  THE  BIRDS.  —  LONDON  STREETS.  — 
AN  INVITATION.  —  THEATRE.  —  A  MUSIC  HALL. — A 
LUNCHEON.  —  A  SERMON 138 


xiv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER   XX. 

MONDAY  IN  MY  HOTEL. — OUT  OF  IT  AT  THE  HAIRCUT- 
TER'S. — THE  TELEGRAM. — OFF  TO  BOVOR. —  I  AR- 
RIVE AT  BECKEN HURST 146 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

EN   ROUTE  FOR  THE  CASTLE. — THOUGHTS  ON  THE  STARS. 

—  A  COMMUNICATIVE  DRIVER 153 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

BOVOR    CASTLE.  —  THE    DRAWBRIDGE. — THE    RECEPTION. 

SUPPER.  —  THE  HAUNTED   ROOM l62 

CHAPTER   XXIII. 

BOVOR.  —  THE  HAUNTED  ROOM.  —  ROUGHING  IT    .    .170 

CHAPTER   XXIV. 

BOVOR    IN    THE    EARLY  MORNING.  —  MEDIEVAL  MOTIONS. 

—  BREAKFAST.  —  A  PUZZLE 179 

CHAPTER   XXV. 

WORK  AT  BOVOR. — THE  WEATHER. — PROSPECTS. — LUNCH- 
EON   l8S 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AT  BOVOR.  —  PLAY  A  GREAT  GAME  OF  WHIST     .          .          .      196 

CHAPTER   XXVII. 

FINISHING   THE    RUBBER.  —  NEW    GAME. — CONVERSATION      2O4 


CONTENTS.  « 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

tHE   WEATHER. —  I    WORK    IN    ANNE    BOLEYN'S    ROOM. — 

REPARTEES   PROGRESSING. — I   MEET  A  STRANGER         .      212 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

I  LEAVE  BOVOR. —  IN  LONDON.  —  TOUJOURS  MILBURD. — 
WE  GO  TO  THE  THEATRE.  —  I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  A 
CELEBRATED  CHARACTER. — BRIGHTON. — THE  GRAND- 
EST HOTEL 219 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

SUNDAY  AT  BRIGHTON.  —  AN  UNSOCIABLE  COMPANION. — 
MY  NEIGHBORS  IN  THE  HOTEL.  —  WE  LEAVE  FOR 
LONDON 227 

CHAPTER   XXXI. 

AN   INTERVIEW  WITH  A   WATCH-DOG.  —  A   SURPRISE  .      232 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

I  GET  RIGGED  OUT.  —  MY  FIRST  BON-MOT  HERE.  —  DIN- 
NER.—  MY  PARTNER  FROM  NOVA  SCOTIA.  —  MUSIC  .  236 

CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

REPARTEE   PRACTICE.  —  MISS  PELLINGLE  WITH   ROUSSEAU'S 

DREAM.  —  FRIDOLINE.  —  AN   INTERRUPTION  .          .      242 

CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

I  AM  DRESSED  UP.  —  REHEARSAL  IN  THE  KITCHEN.  — 
PERFORMANCE  IN  DRAWING-ROOM.  —  FIASCO.  —  FAM- 
ILY PRAYERS.  —  ARRANGEMENTS  FOR  A  RIDE  .  .  250 


anrt  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE  RIDE. — I  PREPARE  TO  GO  OUT  WITH  THE  DISHLINO 

PACK 260 

CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

I  MOUNT  MY  GALLANT  CHESTNUT.  —  THOUGHTS  ON  RID- 
ING. —  ANTIGROPELOS.  —  THE  TROT.  —  THE  CANTER. 
— THE  GALLOP.  —  HUNTING 266 

CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

I  URGE  ON  MY  GALLANT  CHESTNUT. — A  DREADFUL  SIT- 
UATION.—  THE  STAGGERS. — A  HAPPY  RELEASE  .  277 

CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

I  AM  DRIVEN  HOME.  —  THE  RETURN.  —  DELICIOUS  HALF- 
HOUR  BEFORE  DINNER 284 

CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

DRESSING    IN    A    HURRY.  —  I    MAKE    LOVE    AT    DINNER. — 

AN  APPOINTMENT.  —  "  BEGINNING   OF  THE  END  "        .      289 

CHAPTER  XL. 

END  OF  THE  BEGINNING.  —  MATCHED.  —  I  HAVE  AN  IN- 
TERVIEW WITH  MY  MOTHER.  —  I  AM  MARRIED  .  .  295 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THOUGHTS   IN   TOWN.  —  THOUGHTS  IN  COUNTRY.  —  WASPS. 
—  ON   THE   GRASS. 


OW  delightful  it  must  be  to  live  in  the  country  ! 
On  such  a  day  as  this,  85°  in  the  shade,  one 
would  have  all  the  windows  looking  on  to  the 
lawn  open  during  dinner,  luncheon,  and  break- 
fast. Go  out  and  throw  bread  to  gold-fish  in  a  pond. 
There  must  be  gold-fish.  In  the  hottest  part  of  the  day 
lie  out  on  the  grass  with  a  book,  or  go  to  sleep  sub  tegmine 
fagi.  Or  pull  one's  self  in  a  boat,  very  gently,  to  a  shady, 
cool  nook,  beneath  the  boughs  of  a  drooping  tree,  and 
there  lie  down,  read,  and  smoke  the  soothing  pipe. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Croquet  when  it  is  cooler  :  or  feed  the 
gold-fish.  The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  certain  I  am 
that  no  country-house  is  perfect  without  gold-fish.  A  visit 
to  the  farm,  in  the  early  morn,  or  in  the  evening.  How 

I  A 


2  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

sweet  to  have  a  favorite  pig,  or  a  goose,  or  geese,  or  a 
cow,  a  favorite  cow,  which  would  feed  out  of  your  hand,  and 
lay  eggs —  I  mean  give  milk  every  morning  for  breakfast. 
What  a  charming  picture  !  Then  how  picturesque  is  the 
elegant. swan  upon  the  peaceful  lake!  How  cool  appear 
the  carp  and  the  pike,  and  how  lazily  will  even  the  little 
ducks  waddle  down  to  their  accustomed  pond  !  And  how 
interesting,  now,  to  watch  the  gold-fish  !  I  have  thought 
of  it  again,  and  conclude  that  there  must  be  gold-fish.  And 
at  night,  calm,  serene,  and  peaceful.  The  moon — the 
tranquil  moon  —  sheds  her  gentle  beams  upon  the  scene- 
\_Happy  Thought.  —  "  Shedding  a  beam  "  ;  try  it  in  a  poem.] 
One  can  open  one's  bedroom  window,  and  sniff  the  dying 
fragrancy  of  the  honeysuckle  still  lingering  on  the  scarce- 
moving  breeze.  O  delightful  thoughts,  on  this  the  hot- 
test day  of  June  in  London  !  Yes  !  to  the  country  !  away  ! 
To  the  gold-fish ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  "  An  old  Elizabethan  House  far  away 
in  the  country  to  let,  at  a  low  rent,  furnished,  for  the  sum- 
mer months.  Pond,  farm,  &c."  Pond!  and  gold-fish  ! 

A  Decision.  —  Mine,  by  all  that 's  ancient  and  rustic,  on 
this  hottest  day  in  June  !  I  take  it  that  I  shall  like  it. 
Happy  Thought  for  epigram,  Like  it,  take  it. 

Note.  —  I  am  there.     All  is  ready  for  me. 

And  there  are  gold-fish  in  a  small  pond  ! 

There  is  a  cow  :  and  a  pigsty  with  pigs. 

And  a  farm-yard  with  cocks  and  hens. 

There  are  peacocks  too. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  3 

Happy  Thought.  —  Farewell  business,  work,  and  hot  days 
in  London. 

*  *  *  *  # 

Another  Happy  Thought.  —  I  shall  take  down  a  fly- 
rod,  and  some  biscuits  for  the  gold-fish.  *  *  *  *  I  am 
there. 

Note.  —  As  hot  as  it  was  in  London.  Hotter ;  95°  in  the 
shade,  that  is,  in  what  they  call  the  shade.  All  the  windows 
open,  of  course,  looking  on  to  the  lawn.  Cooler  in-doors 
than  out,  except  when  one  has  to  jump  up  and  throw  books 
at  wasps,  which  happens  at  intervals  of  five  minutes,  varied 
by  every  one  —  every  one  means  my  mother,  my  maiden 
aunt,  her  companion.  Miss  Jinsey,  and  a  country  friend  — 
taking  up  poker,  shovel,  tongs,  paper-knife,  or  anti-macassar 
against  a  hornet.  Hot  work  !  I  thought  there  were  no 
wasps  in  June.  Country  friend  staying  with  us  says,  "  O, 
ain't  there  ! "  and  gives  me  particulars  to  the  following 
effect :  — 

Every  wasp  that  flies  about  in  the  early  summer  is  a 
Queen  Wasp ;  she  is  double  the  size  of  other  Wasps,  and 
has  twice  the  sting. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  we  had  two  of  the  windows  looking 
on  the  lawn  closed,  we  might  abate  the  nuisance. 

Note.  —  In  doing  this,  we  shut  in  a  Queen  Wasp.  It  was 
knocked  down  with  an  anti-macassar,  and  is  supposed  to  be 
either  in  that  useful  piece  of  crochet-work,  or  on  the  floor, 
crawling  about.  We  are  all  sitting  with  our  feet  on  the 


4  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

sofas  or  chairs,  and  the  anti-macassar  has  been  thrown  out 
of  window.  Country  friend  rather  thinks,  by  its  size,  that 
it  was  a  hornet,  and  tells  us  that  when  he  knew  the  Eliz- 
abethan House  in  old  SOANSO'S  time,  it  was  "  quite  cele- 
brated for  hornets."  I  ask  him  why  he  hadn't  mentioned 
this  when  I  was  taking  the  house,  partly  by  his  recommen- 
dation. He  says,  "  O,  what 's  it  matter  ?  Who  cares  about 
a  hornet  ?  "  I  reply,  "  Yes,  of  course,  that 's  true  ;  but  still 
they  are  nasty  things,"  and  he  then  gives  me  the  following 
particulars :  — 

At  this  time  of  the  year  every  Hornet  is  a  Queen  Hornet. 
They  have  treble  the  sting  of  an  ordinary  Hornet. 
Three  Hornets  will  kill  a  horse. 
Hornets  sting  after  they  are  dead. 
One  once  killed  a  man 

(name  unknown),  but  not  quite  sure  that  it  was  n't  in  this 
very  place,  i.  e.  the  grounds  of  the  Elizabethan  House. 
Here  we  have  all  the  windows  shut. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  your  windows  are  shut,  you  can 
always,  in  the  country,  lie  down  out  of  doors.  On  the 
grass,  and  read,  and  smoke.  Of  course  this  does  n't  apply 
to  my  mother,  my  maiden  aunt,  and  Miss  Jinsey.  Country 
friend  and  self  place  seats  for  them. 

Note.  —  It  is  difficult  to  get  into  a  comfortable  position 
on  the  grass.  One  so  easily  becomes  cramped.  It  is  dif- 
ficult, if  there  is  the  slightest  breeze,  to  read  a  newspaper, 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  5 

or  to  keep  a  place  in  a  book.  You  can't  read  lying  on  your 
back.  If  you  lie  on  your  left  side,  you  've  pins  and  needles 
in  your  left  arm  ;  if  on  your  right,  in  your  right  arm. 
Sleep  is  the  only  remedy  ;  that  you  may  do,  on  your  back, 
if  you  can  only  get  your  head  comfortably  placed.  A  great 
point  is  gained  when  you  determine  that  you  are  comforta- 
ble. A  buzzing —  I  am  disturbed  by  a  wasp  :  settled  down 
again.  More  wasps  —  no,  hornet  !  —  Queen  hornet !  All 
rise  to  receive  her :  she  is  gone.  We  settle  ourselves 
again.  Bumble-bees,  or  Humble-bees,  we  now  notice,  are 
not  afraid  of  coming  quite  close  to  your  ears.  Humble-bees 
are  supposed  not  to  sting.  There  are  plenty  of  ants  about : 
"  Plenty,"  says  our  country  friend  ;  "  regular  good  place  for 
ants."  He  adds  that  these  reddish-black  ants  are  peculiar 
to  this  part  of  the  country  (meaning  my  Elizabethan  House 
and  grounds)  and  do  bite  like  winking.  We  all  get  up  ;  it 
is  a  balance  of  comfort. 

In-doors.  —  Wasps  and  hornets,  if  they  can  get  in  :  shut 
windows  and  heat. 

Out-of-doors.  —  Wasps,  hornets,  bumbles  and  humbles, 
ants,  and  many  other  curious  insects,  including  odd  flies 
with  long  bodies :  but,  fresh  air. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  Lake  —  not  the  pond  where  the 
gold-fish  are,  but  the  lake.  At  this  suggestion  my  aunt 
retires  ;  so  does  Miss  Jinsey.  My  mother  will  remain  where 
she  is  and  watch  us.  It'll  be  delicious  :  once  in  the  shade. 
How  elegant  and  peaceful  the  white  swans  look  as  they  sit 
basking  and  winking  in  the  noonday  sun. 


6  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

The  swans  are  between  me  and  the  boat.  I  can't 
get  at  it  without  disturbing  the  Swans.  I  wish  I  had 
some  bread  to  throw  to  them,  or  the  biscuits  for  the 
gold-fish. 

They  hiss  savagely  on  my  approach.  They  do  not  move 
but  hiss.  I  never  knew  this  before.  If  they  move  at  all, 
they  seem  to  evince  a  disposition  to  run  at  one.  Country 
friend  says,  "  O  yes,  savage  fellows  —  Swans,"  and  gives 
me  these  particulars  :  — 

A  blow  from  a  Swan's  wing  will  break  a  man's  leg. 
A  Swan  once  piilled  a  boy  out  of  a  boat,  and  held  him 
under  water  till  he  was  nearly  drowned. 

Swans  are  always  vicious,  unless  they  know  you. 
Even  when  they  know  you,  they  are  uncertain-tempered. 

Hot  work  getting  into  the  boat.  Blazing  sun.  Row 
quickly  to  get  into  shade.  Hotter  than  ever  after  rowing 
quickly.  Some  difficulty  in  getting  underneath  the  trees. 
What  strength  there  is  in  a  small  branch  if  it  comes  sud- 
denly against  you !  I  had  no  idea  that  it  would  knock  one 
right  back  in  the  boat  with  one's  head  against  the  rudder. 
Country  friend  says,  "  O,  did  n't  I  know  that  ? "  and  picks 
my  hat  out  of  the  water. 

Happy  Thought.  —  This  promises  comfort.  Now  for  a 
pipe :  tobacco  will  keep  off  the  little  flies  and  insects. 
Unfortunately  the  fusees  have  fallen  into  the  water.  A 
nuisance ;  and  we  've  left  our  books  on  the  bank.  Still,  with 
the  exception  of  the  very  small  flies,  which,  I  fancy,  bite 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  7 

("  Bite  !  "  my  country  friend  would  think  they  could  bite, 
rather  :  they  do,  too)  we  might  be  very  comfortable. 

Another  Happy  Thought.  —  The  flies  have  left  off.  This 
is  peaceful  and  delicious,  and  — 

A  splash  !  What  was  it  ?  Country  friend  points  out  to 
me  a  great  big  rat  close  to  the  boat.  Good  heavens  !  He 
shows  me  another  on  the  bank.  Should  they  jump  into  our 
boat !  Let  us  pull  off  at  once.  Where  to  ?  Anywhere 
where  there  are  no  rats.  Friend  says  it  would  be  a  difficult 
thing  to  find  out  that  place  on  the  lake.  Then  there  are 
many  rats  here  ?  "  Many  !  "  —  he  informs  me  that  "  it," 
meaning  the  lake  in  the  grounds  of  the  Elizabethan  House, 
"  is  celebrated  for  rats."  Nothing  I  detest  so  much.  We 
will  row  to  shore. 

Note.  —  In  hot  weather  in  the  country  it  is  difficult  to 
know  when  to  dine. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Dine  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  Two 
o'clock.  My  aunt  agrees  ;  so  does  Miss  Jinsey.  My  mother 
is  doubtful  on  the  point. 

Note.  —  Early  dinner,  sure  to  produce  indigestion ;  and  the 
windows  must  be  closed  on  account  of  the  wasps  and  hor- 
nets. And  what  are  you  to  do  afterwards  ?  I  answer, 
feed  the  gold-fish.  Friend  says,  "  Pooh,  bother  the  gold- 
fish." 

Another  Happy  Thought.  —  Dine  at  four. 

Query  by  Every  One.  —  Then  when  are  we  to  lunch  ? 
Poser.  But  why  not  a  biscuit,  and  then  you  can  feed  the 
gold-fish  ? 


8  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Dine  at  six,  no  wasps  then,  and  win- 
dows open. 

Objection  (by  my  aunt,  seconded  by  Miss  Jinsey).  —  But 
you  lose  the  cool  of  the  evening  out-of-doors. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Split  the  difference,  and  say  five. 
Then,  what  is  one  to  do  (is  the  objection  by  my  mother) 
from  two  till  five  ?  I  don't  know  —  feed  the  gold-fish.  Five 
is  settled. 


CHAPTER    II. 


IN   THE   COUNTRY.  —  THOUGHTS    ON   FLIES. — BATS.  —  PET 
ANIMALS. 


ERY  Happy  Thought.  —  We  are  still  in  our 
Elizabethan  House.  Every  one  languid  or  irri- 
table, or  both,  from  the  heat. 


Happy  Thought  at  7.30  P.  M.  —  We  '11  have  tea  out  of 
doors.  On  a  rustic  table  :  sit  on  rustic  chairs,  made  of 
twisted  wood  with  knots  in  it.  Theatrical  friend  from  town 
says,  "  Like  the  opening  of  an  opera  —  chorus  —  happy 
Peasants."  I  like  a  fellow  from  town  to  enliven  us.  Tea 
soon  gets  cold  out  of  doors.  [Mem.  Get  some  other  sort 
of  rustic  chairs  ;  all  very  well  for  ladies  ;  no  comfort  for 
men  in  twisted  wood  with  knots  in  it.]  Lots  of  little  crea- 
tures appear  in  the  air :  not  gnats  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Let 's  stroll  up  that  walk  and  smell 
the  delicious  Honeysuckle.  *  *  *  *  Curious !  something  's 
biting  one's  hands  and  neck.  Country  friend  says,  "Ah, 
then  it  '11  be  a  fine  day  to-morrow ;  these  little  stinging  flies 
always  come  out  when  it 's  going  to  be  a  fine  day  to-mor- 
row." He  gives  me  the  following  facts  :  — 

Small  flies  in  the  evening  bite  any  one  who  's  fresh  to  the 
country. 

I* 


10  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

They  quite  disfigured  one  man  once  by  biting  him. 
They  are  not  poisonous. 

They  are  all  about  the  honeysuckle  and  the  bushes. 

Noticed  the  bats  for  the  first  time.  Country  friend  tells 
me  "  it "  (the  Elizabethan  House  and  grounds)  is  famous  for 
bats.  You  can  catch  'em  with  a  net.  I  say,  "  Indeed,  can 
you  really  ?  "  and  we  go  in-doors.  Hate  bats  :  friend  gives 
me  a  few  facts  as  to  bats. 

Bats  in  some  parts  of  the  country  will  settle  in  your  hair. 
(N.  B.  Never  go  out  without  a  cap  at  night.) 

Bats  can  bite  ferociously  when  tJiey  like.  "  They  're  nasty 
things,"  he  adds,  "  to  tackle."  (N.  B.  Never  tackle  a  bat.) 

Happy  Thought  in-doors.  —  To-morrow  visit  the  farm  ; 
see  the  cow  and  the  pigs.  "  How  jolly  it  would  be,"  I 
say  to  my  aunt,  who  agrees  with  me,  substituting  "  pleas- 
ant "for  "jolly,"  in  which  amended  form  Miss  Jinsey  ex- 
presses her  opinion,  • —  "  how  jolly  it  would  be  to  have  a  pet 
cow,  and  pet  pigs,  and  pet  ducks,  and  everything  to  feed 
out  of  your  hand,  and  come  up  when  you  call !  "  The  ladies 
say,  "  Charming !  and  a  dear  little  pet  lamb."  Country 
friend  says,  "  Dirty  little  beasts,  pet  lambs."  Everybody 
says,  "  He  's  got  no  heart."  I  suggest  that  one  might  train 
the  gold-fish.  Friend  gays,  "  How  ?  "  I  say,  "  Anyhow,  — 
with  biscuit."  The  conversation  turns  on  training  animals 
generally,  and  we  conclude  that  all  it  wants  is  "  an  eye." 
We  then  talk  about  VAN  AMBURGH. 

Conclusion.  —  Any  animal  can  be  trained  by  the  eye. 


CHAPTER  III. 

ON  GHOSTS.  —  OX  RATS.  —  OK  GEESE.  —  GAME  COCKS.  — 
THE  FERRET. 

\\PPY  THOUGHT.  —  Early  to  bed,  and  up 
with  the  lark.  Charming  old  Elizabethan  House 
with  old  passages  and  old  oak.  Conversation 
turns  upon  ghosts.  No  one  believes  in  ghosts. 
Are  there  any  here  ?  Country  friend  tells  us  about  a  haunt- 
ed house  in  the  neighborhood.  He'll  show  it  us.  [X.B. 
It 's  very  stupid  to  talk  about  these  sort  of  things,  because 
it  frightens  the  ladies.] 

11.30.  Bed-time  ;  windows  open  ;  no  moon.  The  idea  of 
believing  in  ghosts  !  If  one  did,  this  is  just  the  sort  of  place 
where  they  might  come ;  I  like  lots  of  light  at  night. 
There  's  something  on  the  wall ;  a  shadow.  I  don't  know 
what  fear  is,  but  my  nerves  are  a  little  unstrung  by  the  heat ; 
or,  perhaps,  as  it  has  been  ninety  in  the  shade,  my  imagina- 
tion is  heated.  Xo  :  it's  a  bat ! 

Let  me  see,  a  bat  is  a  nasty  thing  to  tackle.  If  I  shut  the 
windows  he  can't  get  out ;  if  I  leave  'em  open  other  bats 
may  come  in.  There  is  another  —  no,  a  moth.  Hate 
moths  ;  I  can't  sleep  with  a  bat  in  the  room.  I  Ve  heard 
they  suck  the  breath  of  infants  (or  cats  do  that  ? ). 

I fappy  Thought.  —  Called  in  my  country  friend.  I  said, 
"  Such  fun  !  here  's  a  bat."  As  if  I  enjoyed  it. 


12  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

Another  Happy  Thought.  —  I  stand  just  outside  the  door 
to  look  in  and  direct  him  while  he 's  catching  the  bat. 
Country  friend  says,  "  He  's  a  curious  specimen  :  very  rare  " : 
I  hope  so,  sincerely.  Shut  the  windows :  bed.  *  *  *  *  Queer 
noises  :  scrambling  and  thumping.  Not  bats  again  :  it  must 
be  in  the  room.  Mice  ?  hate  mice.  //  can '/  be  rats  ?*  *  *  * 
There  's  no  doubt  about  it,  rats :  detest  rats.  Suppose  one 
should  jump  on  my  bed  !  Country  friend,  whom  I  ask  next 
day,  says,  "  O,  did  n't  I  know  ?  '  It '  "  (the  old  Elizabethan 
House)  "  is  almost  eaten  up  with  rats."  He  gives  me  the 
following  facts  :  — 

Swarms  of  rats  are  in  the  wainscots.  "  Good  gracious  !" 
from  my  mother. 

They  can't  come  out.     General  satisfaction. 

They  do  come  out  in  the  scullery.  Maiden  aunt  tells  Miss 
Jinsey  to  ring  the  bell  and  order  scullery  door  to  be  kept  shut. 

On  the  top  of  the  cellar-steps  they  've  been  seen  as  large  as 
rabbits.  (N.  B.  Avoid  top  of  cellar-stairs.) 

They  come  in  the  winter  into  a  house,  stop  for  the  spring 
and  early  summer,  and  go  out  again  at  harvest-time.  (N.  B. 
Wish  it  was  harvest-time.) 

Their  bite  is  poisonous. 

A  few  rats  will  kill  a  man. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Fresh  eggs  for  breakfast,  early  in  the 
morning.  Charming!  Sleep  interfered  with  by  bats,  rats,' 
and  moths,  but  a  regular  country  breakfast  is  the  thing  to 
set  one  up.  Fresh  eggs!  *  *  *  *  Very  sorry,  no  eggs  :  foot- 


•  HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  13 

man  says  that  under-gardener  tells  him  the  rats  have  sucked 
all  the  eggs  and  killed  ten  chickens. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Send  for  Ratcatcher  at  once.  Friend 
and  self  say,  "  What  fun  !  and  have  a  rat  hunt !  "  Country 
friend  adds,  "  Take  care  they  don't  get  up  your  trousers." 
Miss  Jinsey  makes  some  remark  about  "petticoats,"  but  is 
stopped  by  my  aunt 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  shall  enjoy  the  sport  if  I  see  it  from 

a  window. 

Happy  Thought,  on  the  lawn,  looking  at  the  Gold-fish.  — 
How  horribly  hot  it  must  be  in  London !  Go  and  lounge 
over  the  peaceful  farm.  I  never  knew  that  pigs  got  savage 
and  ran  at  one.  Country  friend  says  "  You  ought  never  to 
bolt  from  a  cow,  or  she 's  sure  to  run  after  you."  I  explain 
that  I  had  no  intention  of  bolting  until  she  did  run  after 
me.  Farm-laborer  says  he  had  two  minds  about  telling 
us  the  beast  was  vicious  when  he  saw  us  gentlemen  going 
in.  What  idiots  farm-laborers  are  !  Very  hot  running. 
Country  friend  gives  me  this  fact  about  geese,  — 

Geese  will  bite  your  shins  dreadfully  if  they  get  hold  of  you. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  Peaceful  Farm  is  full  of  savage 
animals.  We  go  to  the  Hen-house  :  the  fowls,  at  all  events, 
won't  hurt  me.  Country  friend  says  he  's  not  so  sure  of 
that,  and  gives  me  this  fact,  — 


14  HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  • 

Game  Cocks  cartt  be  depended  on. 

They  Ul 'fly  atyoit,  and  peck  your  eyes  as  soon  as  look  at  you. 

The  Ratcatcher  has  come.  I  shall  see  the  Ratting  from 
a  window.  *  *  *  *  Ratcatcher  has  lost  his  ferret;  he 
thinks  it  must  have  run  into  the  house. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Have  my  bedroom  door  shut  at  once. 
My  mother,  my  aunt,  and  Miss  Jinsey  have  all  locked 
themselves  up  in  their  bedrooms  until  that  "  horrid  man," 
the  Ratcatcher,  has  gone. 

The  Ratcatcher  manages  to  kill  three  rats,  which  I  be- 
lieve he  brought  with  him,  and  charges  us  for  the  loss  of 
his  ferret. 

For  a  week  afterwards  the  ferret  is  always  being  expected 
to  reappear.  My  aunt  and  Miss  Jinsey  look  under  all  the 
chairs  and  sofas  three  times  a  day.  My  mother  never  ven- 
tures about  alone. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Search  my  bed  well  every  night. 
Awful  thing  if  the  ferret  were  hidden  underneath  the 
clothes.  After  ten  days  we  are  obliged  to  leave.  Un- 
healthy to  stop,  ferret  and  rats  having  fought  it  out,  and 
died  together  in  the  wainscot. 

Happy  Thought.  — Took  Elizabethan  House  by  the  week. 
Leave  immediately.  Wonder  how  next  tenant  will  like  it. 


CHAPTER    IV. 


COMMENCEMENT  OF  MY  GREAT  WORK. — BY  THE  RIVER. 

—  THE  SOLITARY  IN  THE  PUNT.  —  BARGES. — EARWIGS. 

—  THE  RETREAT. 


THOUGHTS.  —  I  have  now  hit  upon  a 
very  happy  thought.  Being  in  need  of  quiet,  in 
order  to  commence  my  great  work  on  "  Typical 
Developments,"  I  have  found  a  charming  re- 
treat on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  somewhere  about 
Twickenham,  or  Teddington,  or  Richmond,  or  Kingston, 
and  all  that  part.  Capital  fishing  here.  In  punts,  with  a 
man,  and  worms  ;  average  sport,  one  tittlebat  in  ten  hours. 

First  Happy  Day.  —  Charming  ;  perfect  quiet.  See  a  man 
in  punt,  fishing.  Ask  him  how  long  he  had  been  there. 
He  says,  "  Three  hours."  Caught  anything  ?  "  Nothing." 
He  is  quite  cheerful.  Full  of  happy  thoughts,  and  com- 
mence my  Typical  Developments.  In  the  evening  catch  an 
earwig  ;  not  a  bit  frightened  of  him.  The  pincers  in  an 
earwig's  tail  dotft  bite. 

To  bed  early.  Leave  the  man  fishing  ;  his  man  with  the 
bait  asleep.  Been  there  all  day  ?  "  Yes."  Caught  any- 
thing ?  "  Nothing."  Quite  contented. 

Second  Happy  Day.  —  Up  early.  Same  man  in  punt,  still 
fishing  ;  new  man  with  bait.  Ask  him  how  long  he  has 
been  there.  "  All  night."  Caught  anything  ?  "  Nothing." 


16  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Not  at  all  irritable.  *  *  *  *  Kill  two  earwigs  in  my 
bath.  Sit  in  my  parlor  to  write. 

Before  me  is  my  little  lawn  :  at  the  foot  of  the  lawn  runs 
the  river. 

9  A.M.  —  I  commence  my  Typical  Developments,  and  note 
the  fact,  keeping  by  me  this  journal  of  observation  in  case 
anything  turns  up.  Something  has  turned  up  :  an  earwig. 
Distracting  for  a  moment,  but  now  defunct.  All  is  peace. 
I  walk  down  the  lawn.  Caught  anything  ?  "  Nothing." 
His  voice  is,  I  fancy,  getting  weaker.  I  am  meditating,  and 
my  soul  is  rising  to  sublime  heights.  *  *  *  *  A  Barge  is 
passing  slowly,  towed  by  horses  against  a  strong  stream, 
while  the  happy  bargeman  trudges  cheerily  along;  and 
other  happy  bargemen,  with  their  wives  and  children,  loll 
lazily  on  deck.  (The  fishing  punt  has  suddenly  disappeared.) 
Ah  !  how  easily  may  we  float  against  the  stream  of  life,  if 
we  are  towed  !  How  sweet  it  is  to  —  A  Barge  has  stuck 
on  the  shallows. 

Scientific  Note.  —  How  distinctly  water  conveys  sound  !  I 
can  hear  every  word  that  happy  bargeman  on  the  opposite 
shore  says,  as  if  I  were  at  his  elbow.  He  is  using  language 
of  a  fearful  description  to  his  horses.  The  other  bargeman 
has  lifted  himself  up  (he  was  on  his  back  kicking  his  legs  in 
the  air  on  deck)  to  remonstrate.  His  remonstrances  are 
couched  in  still  stronger  language,  and  include  the  man  and 
the  beasts.  Woman  (his  wife  I  should  say)  interferes  with  a 
view  to  peacemaking.  Her  soothing  words  are  more  forci- 
ble than  those  of  the  two  men,  and  include  them  both  with 
the  beasts.  The  children  have  also  joined  in,  and  are  abus- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  1 7 

ing  the  bargeman  (their  father,  as  I  gather)  on  shore.  My 
gardener  tells  me  they  '11  probably  stick  here  till  the  tide 
turns.  I  ask  him  if  it  often  happens.  He  tells  me,  "  O, 
it 's  a  great  place  for  barges."  My  sister  and  two  ladies  in 
the  drawing-room  (also  facing  the  lawn)  have  closed  their 
windows.  Typical  Developments  shall  have  a  chapter  on  the 
"  Ideal  Bargeman."  To  write  is  impossible  at  present.  A 
request  has  been  forwarded  to  me  from  the  drawing-room 
to  the  effect  that  I  would  step  in  and  kill  an  earwig  or  two. 
I  step  in  and  kill  five.  Ladies  in  hysterics.  The  punt  has 
reappeared :  he  only  put  in  for  more  bait.  Caught  any- 
thing ?  "  Nothing."  Had  a  bite  ?  "  Once,  I  think."  He 
is  calm,  but  not  in  any  way  triumphant. 

Evening.  —  Tide  turned.  Barge  gone.  They  swore  till 
the  last  moment.  From  my  lawn  I  attempted  to  reason 
with  them.  I  called  them  "  my  good  men,"  and  tried  to 
cajole  them.  Their  immediate  reply  was  of  an  evasive 
character.  I  again  attempted  to  reason  with  them.  Out 
of  their  next  reply  I  distinguished  only  one  word  which  was 
not  positively  an  oath.  Even  as  it  stood,  apart  from  its 
context,  it  was  n't  a  nice  word,  and  my  negotiations  came  to 
an  end.  Went  back  to  my  parlor  and  killed  earwigs. 

Xight.  —  Man  in  punt  still  fishing.  He  informs  me  that 
he  does  n't  think  this  a  very  good  place  for  sport.  Caught 
anything  ?  "  Nothing."  He  is  going  somewhere  else.  I 
find  that  I  can  write  at  night.  No  noise.  I  discover  for 
the  first  time  that  I  Ve  got  a  neighbor  who  looks  at  the 
Moon  and  Jupiter  every  night  through  a  large  telescope. 
He  asks  me  would  I  like  to  step  in  and  see  Jupiter  ?  *  *  *  * 

B 


l8  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

I  have  stepped  in  and  seen  Jupiter  (who  gave  us  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  himself  into  a  focus)  until  my  head  aches. 
He  has  a  machine  for  stopping  the  earth's  motion  while  we 
look  at  Jupiter.  It  is  very  convenient,  as  you  can't  get  a 
good  look  at  Jupiter  while  the  earth  is  going  round. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  call  my  astronomical  acquaintance 
"  Joshua."  I  do.  He  does  n't  like  it.  No  writing  to-night. 
During  my  absence,  five  moths,  attracted  by  the  gas-light, 
and  at  least  a  hundred  small  green  flies,  have  perished  mis- 
erably on  my  MS.  paper  and  books.  *  *  *  *  Screams  from 
the  ladies'  bedroom.  Off.  *  *  *  *  Maid-servant  up  !  !  ! 
Lights  !  !  "  Would  I  mind  stepping  in  and  killing  an  ear- 
wig ?"  Bed.  I  open  my  window  and  gaze  on  the  placid 
stream.  Why,  there 's  a  punt  ;  and  a  man  in  it :  fishing. 
He  has  returned.  Caught  anything?  "Nothing."  Good 
night.  "  Good  night." 

Third  Happy  Day.  —  Five  earwigs  in  bath,  drowned. 
Fine  day  for  Typical  Developments.  Man  and  punt  gone  ; 
at  least  I  don't  see  them.  Commenced  Chapter  ist.  *  *  *  * 
Dear  me !  Music  on  the  water.  A  large  barge  with  a 
pleasure  party.  They  're  dancing  the  Lancers.  The  gar- 
dener says,  in  reply  to  my  question  about  the  frequent  re- 
currence of  these  merry-makings,  "  O  yes,  it  's  a  great 
place  for  pleasure  parties  and  moosic.  They  comes  up  in 
summer  about  three  or  four  at  a  time  ;  all  a  playin'  of  differ- 
ent toons.  Quite  gay  like.  The  Maria  Jane  brings  up 
parties  every  day  with  a  band."  The  Maria  Jane  is  the 
name  of  the  pleasure  barge.  Bah  !  I  will  overcome  this 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  19 

nervousness.  I  will  abstract  myself  from  passing  barges 
and  music,  and  concentrate  myself  upon  —  tiddledy  tid- 
dledy  rum  ti  turn  —  that 's  the  bowing  figure  in  the  Lancers 
—  hang  the  bowing  figure  !  —  Let  me  concentrate  myself 
upon  —  with  a  tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti  turn.  It 's  difficult 
to  remember  the  Lancers.  The  barge  has  passed.  (  Now 
for  Typical  Developments.  —  Message  from  my  aunt, 
"  Would  I  step  in  and  kill  an  earwig  in  the  work-box  ? " 
*  *  *  *  A  steamer  !  I  did  n't  know  steamers  were  allowed 
here.  "  O  yes,"  the  gardener  says,  "  it 's  a  great  place  for 
steamers.  They  brings  up  school-children  for  feasts."  They 
do  with  a  vengeance  ;  the  children  are  shouting  and  holloa- 
ing, their  masters  and  mistresses  are  issuing  orders  for 
landing  ;  thank  goodness,  on  the  opposite  bank.  They  've 
got  a  band  too.  "  No,"  the  gardener  explains,  "  it 's  not 
their  band  I  hear,  that  belongs  to  the  Benefit  Societies' 
Club,  as  has  just  come  up  in  the  other  steamer  behind." 
The  other  steamer  !  They  're  dancing  the  Lancers  too. 
I  t/iust  concentrate  myself ;  let  me  see,  where  was  I  ?  Typ- 
ical Developments.  Chap.  i.  Tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti  turn, 
with  my  tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  turn  turn  and  my  tiddledy 
tiddledy,  that's  the  bowing  figure,  now  they're  bowing  — 
and  finish,  yes,  tiddledy  tiddledy  rum  ti  turn.  The  Lancers 
is  rather  fun.  *  *  *  *  Good  heavens  !  I  find  myself  uncon- 
sciously practising  steps  and  doing  a  figure.  I  must  con- 
centrate myself. 

Afternoon.  —  Barges  and  swearing.  Pleasure  boat  with 
band,  and  party  dancing  Lancers,  for  the  fourth  time.  Re- 
turn of  all  the  boats,  steamers,  and  barges  ;  they  stop  op- 


20  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

posite,  out  of  a  mistaken  complimentary  feeling  on  their 
part,  and  play  (for  a  change)  the  Lancers,  Tiddledy  tiddledy 
rum  ti  turn.  Becoming  a  little  wild,  I  dance  by  myself  on 
the  lawn.  The  maid  comes  out.  "  Would  I  step  in  and 
kill  an  earwig  ?  "  With  pleasure  —  bowing  figure  —  and  my 
tiddledy  iddledy  rum  ti  turn. 

Night.  —  The  turmoil  has  all  passed.  I  walk  down  the 
lawn  and  gaze  on  the  calmly  flowing  river.  Is  it  possible  ? 
There  is  the  punt  and  the  man,  fishing.  He  'd  been  a  little 
higher  up.  Caught  anything  ?  "  Nothing."  Gardener  in- 
forms me  that  people  often  come  out  for  a  week's  fishing. 

1  suppose  he 's  come  out  for  a  week's  fishing.     Neighbor 
over  the  hedge  asks  me,  "  Would  I  like  to  have  a  look  at 
Jupiter  ? "     I  say  I  won't  trouble  him.    He  says  no  trouble, 
just  get  the  focus,  stop  the  earth's  motion,  and  there  you 
are.    He  does  get  the  focus,  stops  the  earth's  motion  with  his 
instrument,  and,  consequently,  there   I  am.     I  leave  my 
Typical  Developments,  Chap.  I.  *  *  *  *  Looking  through 
the  telescope  makes  one's  head  ache.     We  did  have  some 
brandy-and-water.     Sha'  n't  stop  up  so  late  again.     Cocks 
begin  to  crow  here  at  midnight.     It's  quite  light  at  mid- 
night.    I  can't  concentrate  myself  like  the  man  in  the  punt. 
Caught  anything  ?      "  Nothing."       Good   night.       "  Good 
night." 

Fourth  and  Fifth  Happy  Days.  —  Typical  Developments, 
Chap.  I.  Man  in  punt  disappeared.  Lancers,  tiddledy 
iddledy  rum  ti  turn  from  1 1  A.M.  till  2  P.M.  School  feasts 

2  till  5.    Earwigs  to  be  killed  every  other  half-hour.     Cheer- 
ing from  Odd  Fellows  and  Mutual  Benevolent  Societies. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  21 

Barges  at  all  hours  and  strong  language.  Festive  prople 
on  opposite  shore  howling  and  fighting  up  till  past  mid- 
night. Gardener  says,  "  O  yes,  it 's  a  great  place  iof  all 
that  sort  of  thing."  Disturbed  in  the  evening  by  Jupiter, 
Saturn,  and  the  Moon,  which  have  got  something  remark- 
able the  matter  with  them.  Accounted  for,  perhaps,  by  the 
machine  for  checking  the  earth's  motion  being  a  little  out 
of  order. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  have  found  a  more  charming  "  Re- 
treat "  on  the  banks  of  the  Thames,  i.  e.  to  retreat  altogether. 
Have  heard  of  an  old  Feudal  Castle  to  be  let.  Shall  go 
there.  Sha'  n't  take  my  mother,  nor  my  aunt,  and,  of  course, 
not  Miss  Jinsey. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  be  alone.  Moat  and  remote  ;  put 
that  into  Typical  Developments,  Chap.  I.  We  have  packed 
up  everything.  I  open  my  note-book  of  memoranda  to  see 
if  I  've  left  anything  behind.  I  walk  down  the  lawn  to  see 
if  I  've  left  anything  behind  there.  Yes  !  there  he  is.  The 
man  in  the  punt,  still  fishing.  He  says  he 's  been  a  little 
lower  down.  Any  sport  ?  "  None."  Caught  anything 
here  ?  "  Nothing."  Good  by.  "  Good  by."  And  so  I 
go  away  and  leave  him  behind. 


CHAPTER    V. 

ON   DIBBLING  AND   SNIGGLING. 

URPRISING!  I  couldn't  get  that  man  in  a 
punt  out  of  my  head,  so  I  found  in  my  note- 
book a  few  mems  about  fishing.  It  is  there 
recorded  as  a  — 


Happy  Thought,  that  I  would  stop  at  a  small  house  near 
a  running  stream  for  a  few  days,  on  my  road  to  the  Feudal 
Castle,  which  is,  I  hear,  to  let.  There  is  a  meadow  between 
my  lodging  and  the  river.  It  is  a  fishing  village,  and  the 
natives  generally  wear  high  boots,  so  as  to  be  ready  to  go 
into  the  water  in  pursuit  of  their  favorite  amusement  and 
business  at  any  hour.  I  believe  they  sleep  in  their  boots. 

First  Morning,  after  breakfast.  —  Put  on  my  landlord's 
big  boots  and  walk  in  the  meadow.  Man  in  a  small  boat 
fishing  ;  ask  him  civilly  what  he  's  doing.  He  answers, 
without  taking  his  eye  off  his  hook,  and,  being  disturbed, 
he  answers  gruffly,  "  Dibbling  for  chub." 

I  watch  him  dibbling.  Dibbling  appears  to  consist  in 
sitting  still  in  a  boat  and  holding  a  rod  with  the  line  not 
touching  the  water.  A  fish  to  be  caught  by  dibbling  must 
be  a  fool,  as  he  has  to  come  four  inches  nearly  out  of  the 
water  in  order  to  get  at  the  bait.  Luxurious  fish  they  must 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  23 

be  too  !  epicures  of  fish,  for  the  bait  is  a  bumble,  or  humble, 
bee.  The  moral  effect  on  a  Dibbler  is  to  make  him  uncom- 
monly sulky.  All  the  villagers  dibble,  and  are  all  more  or 
less  sulky. 

End  of  First  Hour  of  watching  the  man  dibbling  for  chub. 
—  Man  never  spoke  ;  no  fish.  He  is  still  dibbling. 

End  of  Second  Hour.  —  I  have  been  watching  him  ;  one 
chub  came  to  the  surface.  He  was  n't  to  be  dibbled  ;  man 
still  dibbling. 

End  of  Third  Hour.  —  I  fancy  I  've  been  asleep  ;  the  man 
faded  away  from  me  gradually.  I  am  awake,  and  he  is  still 
dibbling  for  chub. 

End  of  Fourth  Hour.  —  I  begin  to  feel  hungry.  I  ask 
him  if  he  's  going  to  leave  off  for  luncheon  ;  he  shakes  his 
head  once,  and  goes  on  dibbling.  Much  dibbling  would 
soon  fill  Hanwell. 

Fifth  Hour.  —  I  have  had  luncheon  and  sherry  ;  I  come 
down  the  meadow  in  the  landlord's  boots.  Man  still  dib- 
bling ;  no  chub.  I  think  I  will  amuse  him  with  a  joke, 
which  I  have  prepared  at  luncheon.  I  say,  jocosely,  "What 
the  dibble  are  you  doing  ?  "  He  answers,  without  taking 
his  eye  away  from  his  line,  "  I  '11  punch  your  'ed,  if  you  ain't 
quiet."  I  try  to  explain  that  it  was  only  a  joke,  and  beg 
him  not  to  be  angry.  He  says,  "  I  '11  let  you  know  if 
I  'm  angry  or  not "  ;  but  he  goes  on  dibbling,  and  I  say  no 
more. 

Eighth  Hour.  —  I  have  been  asleep  again  ;  it  is  getting 
damp.  Man  still  dibbling.  I  ask  him  politely  if  there  is 
any  chance  of  catching  a  chub  to-day.  He  says,  "  Not 


24  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

while  you  sit  there  chattering."  Whereupon  I  rise  (which 
is  more  than  the  fish  do)  and  wish  him  a  very  good  night. 
At  ten  o'clock  I  notice  him  in  the  clear  moonlight  still 
dibbling.  Up  and  down  the  stream  there  are  dibblers. 
To-morrow  I  shall  dibble. 

To-morrow.  —  I  am  divided  between  two  suggestions. 
A  man,  interested  in  me  as  far  as  letting  his  boat  out  goes, 
says,  "  Go  out  a  dibbling  for  chub  ?  "  The  landlord,  dis- 
interested, says,  "  Sniggle."  I  ask,  "  Sniggle  for  chub  ?  " 
He  pities  me,  and  answers,  "  No,  sniggle  for  eels."  So  I 
am  divided  :  dibbling  for  chub,  or  sniggling  for  eels  :  that 
is  the  question.  The  man  with  a  boat  settles  it,  like  a 
Solomon.  "  Dibble,"  says  he,  "  by  day  :  sniggle,"  says  he, 
"  by  night."  That 's  his  notion  of  life.  It  gives  me  an  idea 
for  a  song.  The  fisherman's  chant :  — 

O,  the  Fisherman  is  a  happy  wight ! 
He  dibbles  by  day,  and  he  sniggles  by  night 
He  trolls  for  fish,  and  he  trolls  his  lay,  — 
He  sniggles  by  night,  and  he  dibbles  by  day. 
O,  who  so  merry  as  he  ! 
On  the  river  or  the  sea  1 
Sniggling 
Wriggling 
Eels,  and  higgling 
Over  the  price 
Of  a  nice 

Slice 

Of  fish,  twice 
As  much  as  it  ought  to  be. 

Let  me  request  Mr.  Arthur  Sullivan  to  put  a  little  old 
English  music  to  this,  and  if  he  '11  bring  a  piano  on  board 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  25 

the  gallant  punt,  I  '11  sing  it  for  him,  anywhere  he  likes  to 
mention,  on  the  river  Thames. 

O  the  Fisherman  is  a  happy  man  ! 
He  dibbles  and  sniggles,  and  fills  his  can  I 
With  a  sharpened  hook  and  a  sharper  eye 
He  sniggles  and  dibbles  for  what  comes  by. 
O,  who  so  merry  as  he  ! 
On  the  river  or  the  sea  1 
Dibbling 
Nibbling 

Chub,  and  quibbling 
Over  the  price 
Of  a  nice 

Slice 

Offish,  twice 
As  much  as  it  ought  to  be. 

They  tell  me  chub  are  good  eating,  when  caught  by 
dibbling.  The  village  children  are  all  fed  upon  it ;  in  fact, 
I  guessed  as  much,  from  noting  their  chubby  faces.  (N.  B. 
Nobody,  here,  sees  a  joke.  I  try  some  jokes  on  the  land- 
lord. I  tried  the  song  on  the  landlord :  he  liked  it  very 
much,  and  demanded  it  three  times.  N.  B.  I  've  since  found 
out  that  he  's  a  trifle  deaf  in  one  ear,  and  the  other  has  got 
no  notion  of  tune.  He  was  under  the  impression  that  I  had 
been  singing  God  Save  the  Queen.) 

Third  Day.  —  In  bed:  having  been  out  all  yesterday 
dibbling,  and  all  night  sniggling.  Caught  nothing,  except 
(the  landlord  knows  this  joke  and  always  laughs  at  it)  a 
violent  cold.  I  have  no  books,  and  no  papers.  I  shall 
compose  my  epitaph  :  — 
2 


26  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

"  Here  lies  a  Sniggler  and  a  Dibbler. 
Hooked  it  at  last." 

Then  a  few  lines  on  a  Shakespearian  model  might  come 
in,— 

To  sniggle  or  to  dibble,  that 's  the  question  ! 

Whether  to  bait  a  hook  with  worm  or  bumble, 

Or  take  up  arms  of  any  sea,  some  trouble 

To  fish,  and  then  home  send  'em.     To  fly  —  to  whip  — 

To  moor  and  tie  my  boat  up  by  the  end 

To  any  wooden  post,  or  natural  rock 

We  may  be  near  to,  on  a  Preservation 

Devoutly  to  be  fished.     To  fly —  to  whip  — 

To  whip  !  perchance  two  bream ;  —  and  there  's  the  chub  1 

The  Doctor  has  just  come  in  to  say  my  head  must  be 
kept  cool.  He  allows  me  to  write  this  note,  and  then  I 
must  take  a  soporific.  Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my 
dibbling  and  sniggling  !  Good  night. 

Postscriptum.  I  reopen  my  dairy  (that 's  rather  funny, 
because  I  mean  "  diary  ")  to  say  that  I  've  been  able  to  go 
out  in  the  garden  in  a  Bath  chair.  I  asked  what  I  could  do 
to  amuse  myself  for  an  hour  in  the  Bath  chair.  The  land- 
lord said,  "  Dabble  for  trout."  What  extraordinary  lives 
these  people  lead  !  The  Boots  was  out  all  last  night,  snig- 
gling. Whether  he  was  successful  or  not,  I  do  not  know, 
as  he  was  discharged  on  his  return. 

Happy  Thought.  —  What  would  a  Boots  go  out  sniggling 
with  ?  Boot-hooks.  Doctor  says  my  head  must  be  kept 
cool. 


CHAPTER    VI. 

PROSPECT  OF  FEUDAL  CASTLE. — BOODELS'S  FIRST  AP- 
PEARANCE. —  AN  OLD  FRIEND.  —  THE  EXACT  TIME.  — 
ARRIVAL  AT  BOODELS  WITH  BOODELS  OF  BOODELS. 

APPY  THOUGHT.  — Ho  take  that  old  Feu- 
dal Castle  which  is  to  be  let  for  one  month,  to 
see  how  I  like  it.  I  have  written  about  it,  and 
the  answer  is  "  two  months  with  the  shooting." 
I  may  certainly  note  it  down  as  a  happy  thought  that  I  have 
agreed  to  the  terms,  including  the  shooting.  The  next 
thing  is  a  gun.  I  must  ask  what  sort  of  guns  are  used  now. 
That  '11  do  in  a  week  or  two  ;  I  think  I  '11  get  a  Whitworth 
or  a  Needle. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  pack  up  at  once  and  leave  the 
dibbling  and  sniggling  country.  *  *  *  *  [Besides  my  port- 
manteaus I  carry  a  rug,  an  umbrella,  a  fishing-rod,  a  -stick, 
a  great-coat,  and  a  writing-case.]  *  *  *  *  Having  done  so,  I 
am  overtaken,  on  my  road,  by  the  discharged  Boots  with  a 
Telegram  (I  find  I  had  forgotten  to  tip  the  Boots),  to  say 
that  the  present  family  are  going  to  stop  in  the  Feudal 
Castle  for  a  fortnight  longer ;  so  I  must  defer  my  tenancy. 
I  don't  think  I  can  return  and  dibble.  A  happy  thought 
just  at  this  time  occurs  to  a  friend,  whom  I  meet  at  the 
Popham  Road  Station.  He  says,  "  Come  down  with  me  to 


28  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Boodels,"  the  name  of  his  little  place  in  the  country,  "and 
we  '11  have  some  fun."  I  reply,  "  With  pleasure,  what  fun  ? " 
He  answers,  "  O,  lots  of  things  :  drag  the  pond."  I  see 
that  he  is  enthusiastic  upon  the  subject,  so  I  rub  my  hands, 
clap  them  together,  and  cry,  "  Capital,  — •  the  very  thing  : 
nothing  I  should  enjoy  more :  by  all  means,  drag  the  pond." 
We  will  be  off  by  this  train.  My  friend,  who  appears  much 
troubled  at  the  loss  of  a  watch-key,  here  asks  "  What 's  the 
exact  time  ?  "  I  put  down  my  rod,  my  umbrella,  rug,  great- 
coat, and  writing-case,  unbutton  my  frock-coat,  and  tell 
him  "2.15."  Just  as  I  'm  doing  this  he  sees  the  station 
clock,  and  begs  pardon  for  having  troubled  me.  I  say, 
"  O,  no  matter,"  and  button  up  my  frock-coat  again. 


(N.  B.  —  As  I  find  that  at  the  end  of  a  day  it  is  difficult 
to  keep  my  diary  of  "  Happy  Thoughts  "  satisfactorily,  I 
now  take  down  jottings  as  I  go  along.  My  friends  think 
that  I  am  collecting  materials  for  my  great  work  on  "  Typi- 
cal Developments,"  which  I  commenced  in  Twickenham- 
shire.  I  smile,  and  say  "  Ah  !  ") 

Meet  old  Merrival,  whom  I  have  n't  seen  for  ever  so  long. 
Merrival  says,  "Hallo  !  you  here  ?"  as  if,  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  things,  he  had  expected  to  meet  somebody  else. 
I  answer  candidly,  though  without  much  point,  "  Yes,  here 
I  am  !  "  He  says,  "  Well,  and  how  have  you  been  this  long 
time  ?  "  by  which  he  means  an  interval  of  ten  years.  I 
give  him  a  condensed  report,  and  reply,  "  O,  pretty  well, 
thanks!"  and  ask  him  how  he 's  been,  in  a  tone  which 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  29 

might  convey  the  notion  that  I  should  n't  be  surprised  at 
hearing  that  he  had  had  the  measles,  scarlet  fever,  whoop- 
ing-cough, chicken-pox,  and  a  series  of  minor  illnesses. 
He  answers  carelessly,  looking  out  of  the  window,  "  O, 
much  the  same  as  ever  "  ;  and  I  have  n't  an  idea  what  he 
means.  After  a  pause,  during  which  Old  Merrival  regards 
with  curiosity  my  friend  from  Boodels,  who  is  fast  asleep, 
with  his  leg  over  the  arm  of  the  seat,  looking  like  the  letter 
'•  V  "  in  a  quaint  vignette,  I  hit  upon  a 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  ask  after  his  brother  Tommy,  who 
went  into  the  Army. 

.My  friend  says,  "  Have  n't  you  heard  ?"  I  reply  "  No," 
pleasantly,  expecting  to  find  Tommy  made  a  Lieutenant- 
General.  It  turns  out  that  the  mention  of  Tommy  is  un- 
pleasant :  he  has  not  been  heard  of  since  he  went  out  to 
hunt  alligators  in  a  bush.  I  wish  I  'd  not  been  so  con- 
foundedly inquisitive.  A  damp  has  fallen  on  our  spirits. 

Old  Merrival  presently  attempts  a  change  in  the  conver- 
sation by  inquiring  where  I  'm  going.  I  tell  him  "  Boodels." 
He  says,  '•  Oh  !  where  they  had  the  fever  so  bad  at  the 
beginning  of  the  year."  I  inform  him  that  "I  don't  think 
that 's  Boodels."  He  says,  "  O,  I  'm  wrong.  Boodels  is 
where  all  those  burglaries  took  place.  By  the  way,"  he 
adds,  musingly,  "they  've  never  caught  the  fellows."  I  pre- 
tend to  attribute  no  importance  to  the  news,  but  I  don't 
like  it.  I  tell  him,  in  order  to  show  him  that  Boodels  is  not 
entirely  given  up  to  burglary,  that  "we're  going  to  have 
some  fun  there."  He  says,  as  I  did,  "  What  fun  ?  "  I  reply, 


30  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

as  if  that  was  something  like  a  joke,  "  Drag  the  pond." 
He  does  n't  seem  to  take  much  account  of  this,  and  rather 
snubs  my  notion  of  pleasure  by  remarking,  inquiringly, 
"Slightly  slow  work,  isn't  it?"  I  reply,  sticking  up  for 
it,  "  O  no !  capital  fun."  The  train  stops  at  Hincham, 
and  he  gets  out.  He  says,  from  the  platform,  "  Very  glad 
to  have  seen  you  again  ";  I  return,  "so  am  I  him."  He 
adds,  as  a  happy  thought,  just  as  the  train  is  moving,  "  If 
you  're  coming  by  this  way  at  any  time,  look  us  up,  will 
you  ?  "  I  answer  that  I  '11  be  sure  to  do  so,  and  wonder 
how  he  'd  like  me  to  look  him  up  at  i  A.  M.  He  nods,  and 
adds,  "Don't  forget!"  I  say  (with  my  head  out  of  the 
window),  "  I  won't."  He  turns  away,  and  shows  his  ticket 
to  the  station-master,  with  whom  I  see  him,  the  next  second, 
in  conversation,  and  then  we  leave  each  other  for,  perhaps, 
another  ten  years.  This  idea  tending  to  melancholy,  I 
shake  off  the  remembrance  of  Merrival,  and  begin  to  doze. 
Hereupon,  my  friend  Boodels  wakes  up,  and  says,  "  Hallo  ! 
where  are  we,  eh  ?  "  being  under  the  impression  that  we  've 
passed  the  station.  He  informs  me  that  he  has  been  asleep. 
He  wants  now  to  know  the  exact  time.  I  rouse  myself  with 
much  trouble,  and  tell  him,  adding,  that  I  am  now  going  to 
follow  his  example,  and  doze.  He  says,  "  You  can't ;  we  're 
just  there."  Whereupon  I  shake  myself,  fold  up  my  rug, 
exchange  my  travelling-cap  for  my  hat,  take  down  with 
considerable  difficulty  my  umbrella,  stick,  and  fishing-rod, 
from  the  net  above,  strap  up  my  writing-case,  stuff  my 
newspapers  inconveniently  into  my  great-coat  pocket  — 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  31 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  must  learn  the  art  of  folding  a 
newspaper  into  a  portable  form  — 

—  button  up  my  frock-coat,  and,  having  forgotten  what 
time  I  said  it  was  just  now,  unbutton  it  to  look  at  my  watch, 
rebutton  it,  place  my  writing-case,  umbrella,  fishing-rod,  and 
so  forth,  on  the  seat,  in  order  to  put  on  my  gloves,  take  all 
the  newspapers  out  of  my  great-coat  pockets,  with  a  view  to 
finding  my  gloves,  which,  however,  are  in  the  breast-pocket 
of  my  frock-coat,  where  I  had  put  them  in  mistake  for  my 
pocket-handkerchief,  button  my  coat  for  the  third  time,  put 
on  my  gloves,  take  my  writing-case  and  rug,  fishing-rod,  and 
umbrella,  in  my  hands  again,  my  great-coat  over  my  arm, 
and  sit  as  if  meditating  a  sudden  spring  out  of  the  carriage- 
window  on  the  first  opportunity,  when  Boodels  (of  Boodels) 
who  has  suddenly  found  his  watch-key,  wants  to  know  "the 
exact  time."  I  pretend  to  guess  it.  He  says,  "No!  do 
look,  as  I  want  to  set  my  watch."  I  lay  down,  for  the  third 
time,  my  rod,  umbrella,  stick,  writing-case,  rug,  and  great- 
coat, and  unbutton  my  frock-coat,  also  for  the  third  time, 
take  out  my  watch,  and  tell  him  "  3  30,"  with  perhaps  a  little 
irritability  of  manner.  He  does  n't  say,  "  Thank  you  !  "  but 
sets  to  work  winding  up  his  watch.  By  the  time  I  have  my 
umbrella,  great-coat,  rod,  writing-case,  rug,  and  stick  in  my 
hands,  and  on  my  arms,  for  the  fourth  time  (it  seems  the 
fiftieth),  he  inquires,  "Did  I  say  3.30  or  3.36?"  I  reply, 
"  3-3°  »  but  that  now  it  may  be  3.35."  He  puts  his  watch  to 
his  ear,  looks  at  it,  appears  satisfied,  and  pockets  it.  The 
train  stops  opposite  a  small  platform.  Low,  flat  country  all 
round.  "  Boodels  ?  "  I  ask.  No ;  it 's  where  they  take  the 
tickets. 


32  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Take  the  tickets  ?  O,  that  entails  laying  down  my  um- 
brella, stick,  writing-case,  fishing-rod,  and  rug  for  the  fifth 
time,  unbuttoning  my  coat,  and  feeling  for  the  ticket.  Ul- 
timately, after  much  anxiety,  I  find  it,  with  my  latch-key, 
which  appear,  both  together,  to  have  made  a  hole  for  them- 
selves in  my  waistcoat-pocket,  and  gone  on  a  burrowing 
excursion  into  the  lining.  Thank  goodness,  I  get  rid  of  the 
ticket  at  last.  Not  at  all :  the  man  only  snips  it  with  a  pair 
of  champagne-wire  clippers,  and  goes  on.  It  appears  that 
we  are  half  an  hour  from  Boodels.  I  won't  put  my  ticket 
into  my  waistcoat-pocket  again,  because  of  the  nuisance  of 
unbuttoning,  &c.  The  question  is,  for  such  a  short  time,  is 
it  worth  while  to  undo  one's  rug,  exchange  hat  for  travel- 
ling cap,  take  off  one's  gloves,  unbutton  one's  coat  for  the 
sixth  time,  and  be  comfortable  ?  I  get  as  far  as  taking  off 
"my  gloves,  when  my  friend  says,  "  It 's  no  good  doing  that, 
we're  just  there."  So  it  is.  We  are  before  our  time. 
Boodels  at  last  ;  and  what  the  deuce  I  've  done  with  my 
ticket,  since  it  was  snipped,  I  'm  hanged  if  I  know.  Friend 
says,  "  You  put  it  into  your  waistcoat-pocket  again."  I  am 
positive  I  did  not.  I  unbutton  my  coat  for  the  seventh 
time  and  don't  find  it.  My  friend  is  more  positive  than 
ever  that  it 's  in  my  waistcoat-pocket.  I  unbutton  again 
for  the  eighth  time,  and  find  it  with  my  watch.  How  it 
got  there  I  don't  know,  as  I  assure  the  guard  and  my 
friend,  "  I  never  by  any  chance  put  a  ticket  in  my  watch- 
pocket. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  have  a  separate  pocket  made  for 
tickets.     But  where  ? 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  33 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  have  separate  pockets  made  for 
everything. 

Happy  Thought.  —  That  here  we  are  at  Boodels.  His 
groom  not  here.  He  wants  to  know  the  exact  time.  I 
refer  him  (being  buttoned  up  myself)  to  his  own  watch.  He 
says,  "It's  stopped  again,  he  can't  make  it  out."  I  have 
just  put  down  my  fishing-rod,  umbrella,  writing-case,  and 
rug,  on  the  platform,  and  am  unbuttoning  my  coat,  when 
friend  says,  "O,  don't  bother,  here's  the  station-master 
will  tell  us,"  who  does  so,  and  I  button  up  my  coat  for  the 
eighth  time. 

The  groom  arrives,  with  pony  trap.  The  groom  says 
while  we  're  driving  that  the  pond  can't  be  dragged  before 
the  day  after  to-morrow.  My  friend  is  satisfied.  So  am  I. 
So  's  the  groom.  I  say  to  the  groom,  affably,  who  is  sitting 
with  his  arms  folded  regarding  the  country  superciliously, 
"  It 's  good  fun  dragging  a  pond,  eh  ?  "  He  answers  shortly, 
"  Yes,  sir,"  as  if  he  thought  I  was  taking  a  liberty  in  ad- 
dressing him. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  ingratiate  yourself  with  ser- 
vants :  talk  to  grooms  about  horses,  if  you  can.  Here  we 
are  at  Boodels.  It  turns  out,  on  arriving  at  the  House,  that 
the  time  at  Boodels  is  different  from  either  London  time  or 
railway  time,  and,  therefore,  just  as  I  am  going  up  stairs  to 
my  room,  my  friend  asks  me  for  the  exact  time.  I  place 
my  rug,  umbrella,  coat,  fishing-rod,  stick,  and  writing-case, 
on  the  hall  table  for  the  tenth  and  last  time,  and  tell  him 
4.30.  Whereupon  he  goes  off  and  sets  the  big  clock  in  the 
2*  C 


34  HAPPY  THOUGHTS. 

hall,  the  musical  clock  on  the  stairs,  the  little  clock  in  the 
dining-room,  the  timepieces  in  the  bedrooms,  while  the 
butler  disappears,  and  is  heard  telling  the  cook  all  about  it, 
when  a  whirling  noise  comes  from  the  pantry  and  the 
kitchen.  The  Groom  goes  off  to  set  the  clock  over  the 
stable  door ;  the  Gardener  walks  down  to  the  sun-dial ;  the 
Footman  returns  looking  at  his  own  watch.  I  follow  him 
up  stairs  to  my  room.  Before  he  is  out  of  the  room  I  find 
myself  asking  him  the  time,  and  referring  to  my  own  watch. 
He  should  say  (diffidently)  that  it 's  "  about  twenty  minutes 
to  five."  I  correct  him,  and  give  him  the  exact  time.  He 
withdraws  thankfully,  and  I  remain  standing  opposite  the 
window,  meditatively,  with  my  watch  in  my  hand,  ready  to 
give  any  one  the  exact  time.  *  *  *  *  Knock  at  the  door : 
"  Dinner  is  at  half  past  six  to-day."  Very  well,  thank  you. 
"  Could  I  give  Master  the  exact  time,  as  his  watch  'ave 
stop  again." 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  send  him  the  watch  bodily ;  and 
calmly  commence  dressing  for  my  first  dinner  at  Boodels. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

CHEZ  BOODELS  OF  BOODELS.  —  LITERARY  AND  SCIENTIFIC 
EVENING.  —  FIRST  APPEARANCE  OF  MILBURD.  —  BOO- 
DELS'S  POETRY. 

i|| [NED  with  Boodels  (of  Boodels)  alone.  Noth- 
ing so  conducive  to  Happy  Thoughts  as  a 
good  dinner.  Had  it.  Boodels  (to  whom  I 
have  imparted  the  fact  of  my  being  engaged 
upon  my  grand  work  entitled  Typical  Developments)  says, 
"  Well,  old  boy,  I  'm  glad  to  have  an  evening  together. 
We  :11  have  a  regular  literary  and  scientific  conversation. 
Hey  ?  "  I  say,  "  By  all  means  !  "  and  we  adjourn,  it  being 
a  little  chilly  outside,  to  the  study.  Boodels  (of  Boodels) 
is  a  bachelor,  and  enjoys  literary  ease.  He  says  that  I  shall 
be  perfectly  quiet  here,  no  one  shall  disturb  me,  and  that  I 
can  get  on  with  my  work  on  Typical  Whatshis names  (being 
corrected,  he  says  yes,  he  means  "  Developments  ")  as  fast 
as  I  like.  He  adds,  that  there  '11  be  lots  of  fun  besides.  I 
find  he  means  dragging  the  pond.  I  say,  out  of  compliment 
to  him,  that  I  am  looking  forward  to  this  ;  and  he  seems 
pleased.  He  lights  a  cigar,  and  we  then  enjoy  literary  con- 
versation, —  that  is,  I  read  to  him  my  manuscript  materials 
for  my  work.  Just  as  I  am  commencing,  he  asks  me  for  the 
exact  time,  as  at  nine  o'clock  he  has  a  friend  coming  in.  I 


36  HAPPY  THOUGHTS. 

tell  him  it 's  past  that  now,  whereupon  he  says,  "  Perhaps 
he  won't  come  :  it 's  only  Milburd,  who  lives  in  the  next 
place  ;  he  won't  disturb  us,"  and  finishes  by  asking  me  to 
"  go  on,  old  fellow  !  "  I  go  on  accordingly. 

Happy  Thought.  —  It 's  a  rare  thing  to  find  any  one  pos- 
sessed of  the  faculty  of  appreciation.  Boodels  has  it.  Boo- 
dels  is  a  very  good  fellow.  I  don't  know  any  one  /or 
whom  I  would  do  more  than  I  would  for  Boodels.  There 
are  very  few  to  whom  I  'd  read  my  manuscript  materials  for 
Typical  Developments,  —  very  few  ;  but  I  don't  mind  read- 
ing them  to  Boodels.  It  is  n't  every  one  to  whom  I  'd  say 
"  Now,  my  dear  fellow,  pray  tell  me  any  fault  that  strikes 
you :  do."  But  I  say  it  to  Boodels,  because  Boodels  is  not 
a  fool. 

9h.  5m.  P.M.  —  Note.  I  shall  time  myself  in  reading 
this  first  chapter.  Now:  "  Typical  Developments,  Book  I., 
Chap.  I.  In  the  earliest  — :  Boodels  stops  me.  I  have 
asked  him  to  stop  me  whenever  anything  strikes  him. 
Something  has  struck  him.  "  Why  do  I  call  it  Typical  De- 
velopments ?  "  Why  ?  Well,  because,  —  in  fact,  —  I  ex- 
plain, that  opens  up  a  large  question.  He  will  see,  I  inform 
him,  as  I  go  on.  He  says,  "  O,  I  only  asked."  I  thank 
him  for  asking,  and  tell  him  that  that 's  exactly  what  I  want 
him  to  do.  He  replies,  "  Yes,  he  thought  I  liked  that." 
I  say,  "  Yes,  I  do."  The  lamp  wants  trimming,  and  Boo- 
dels rings  for  the  butler.  There  is  silence  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, because  one  can't  read  while  a  butler  is  trimming 
a  lamp.  The  butler  says,  "  He  thinks  that  '11  do  now, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  37 

sir."  Boodels  says,  "  Yes,  that  '11  do."  I  say,  "  O  yes, 
that  '11  do  capitally  "  (N.  B.  Always  be  on  good  terms  with 
the  butler),  and,  the  butler  having  retired,  I  recommence. 


Happy  Thottght.  —  Must  time  the  reading.  Let  's  see. 
9.20  P.M.  "  Typical  Developments,  Book  I.,  Chap.  i.  In 
the  earliest  —  "  (correct  this  with  pencil  to  "  very  earliest  "). 
"In  the  very  earliest  —  "  Boodels  pushes  a  cigar  towards 
me  without  speaking.  No,  thank  you,  not  while  reading. 
"In  the  very  earliest  —  "  I  don't  know:  yes,  I  will  just 
light  a  cigar.  Let  's  see  the  exact  time  —  9.27.  Now  we 
begin  fairly. 

"In  the  very  earliest  and  darkest  ages  of  our  ancient 
earth  —  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  Stop,  to  alter  "ancient"  to  "old" 
with  a  pencil.  Read  it  to  Boodels.  "  Ages  of  our  old 
earth."  How  does  he  like  it  ?  He  is  dubious.  If  he 
does  n't  like  it,  why  not  say  so.  Well,  he  thinks  he  does  n't 
like  it.  "  Ancient  "  's  better  ?  I  ask.  On  the  whole,  yes, 
he  thinks,  "  ancient  "  's  better. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Alter  "  old  "  to  "  ancient  "  with  a  pen- 
cil. I  respect  Boodels  because  he  speaks  his  mind  ;  if  he 
does  n't  like  a  thing  he  says  so.  "  Won't  I,"  he  asks, 
"  have  a  pen  and  ink  ?  "  No,  thanks  !  I  'd  better.  Well, 
then,  I  will.  If  I  'd  known  that  this  would  have  entailed 
ringing  for  the  butler,  who  had  to  fill  the  inkstand  and  find 


38  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

a  pen,  I  'd  have  been  perfectly  satibfied  as  I  was  with  the 
pencil. 

"  Now,  then,  old  fellow,  fire  away  !  "  says  Boodels,  who 
is  lighting  another  cigar.  Mine  is  out.  •'  Better  light  it," 
says  Roodels,  "it's  more  sociable."  Well,  then,  I  will. 
No  matches.  Bell.  Butler :  who  explains  that  he  told 
James,  the  footman,  to  see  that  the  box  was  filled  every 
Thursday.  Bell.  Footman  :  corroborates  Butler,  but  says, 
"Anne  must  have  taken  them  away  by  mistake  when  she 
cleared."  Explanation  satisfactory.  Matches  are  pro- 
duced. Butler  remains  (officiously  —  who  the  deuce  wants 
to  have  his  cigar  lighted  by  a  butler  ?)  to  light  the  cigars. 
Butler  leaves  us.  "  Fine  weeds  these,  hey  ?  "  says  Boodels. 
They  are.  "  Fire  away,  old  boy,  will  you  ?  "  says  Boodels, 
as  if  /  'd  been  making  the  interruptions. 

Exact  time,  9.50.  Boodels  does  n't  think  Milburd  will 
drop  in  at  this  time.  "  However,  if  he  does,"  he  explains 
again,  "he  need  n't  disturb  us."  He  need n 't,  but  it's  very 
probable  that,  if  he  comes,  he  will.  "  Fire  away,  old  fel- 
low !  it 's  getting  late." 

9.57. —  I  am  firing  away.  "In  the  very  earliest  and 
darkest  ages  of  our  ancient  earth,  before  even  the  Grand 
Primeval  forests  — "  Boodels  interrupts  me,  and  says 
that  comes  from  Longfellow.  I  protest.  He  says,  "  No, 
no,  you  're  right ;  I  was  thinking  of  something  else.  Go 
on."  I  go  on  —  "  the  Grand  Primeval  forests  could  boast 
the  promise  of  an  incipient  bud  — "  Boodels  (who  is  a 
little  too  captious  sometimes)  wants  to  know  "  what  I  mean 
by  '  forests  boast  the  promise '  ?  Why  '  boast '  ?  "  I  tell 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  39 

him  he  '11  see  as  we  go  on.     He  returns,  "  All  right :  fire 
away !  " 

I  shirk  "  boast,"  and  continue  —  "  an  incipient  bud,  there 
existed  in  the  inexhaustible  self-inexhausting  Possible,  in- 
numerable types  —  "  Here  Boodels  suggests  what  a  cap- 
ital idea  it  would  be  for  me  to  give  a  Public  Reading.  Safe 
to  do.  Take  enormously. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  give  a  Public  Reading.  What  of? 
I  can't  help  asking,  though.  "  Would  n't  it  p'raps  be  a 
little  slow  ? "  Boodels,  on  consideration,  says,  "  Yes,  it 
might  be,  without  a  piano  ;  but,  of  course,  I  'd  have  a  piano  ; 
and  a  panorama  ;  or,  he  's  got  it,  wigs  ! "  "  Wigs,"  he 
thinks,  would  make  the  thing  go  first-rate.  "  I  might,  he 
fancies,  give  it  here,  in  the  large  room  at  the  inn,  and  see 
how  it  went."  I  object,  "  O  no,  that  would  n't  do." 
Boodels  is  serious,  "He  can't  see  —  why  not?"  Well, 
because  — .  "  Well,  never  mind  ;  fire  away,  old  boy."  I 
fire  away.  Exact  time,  10.15.  "  —  hausting  Possible,  innu- 
merable types."  I've  got  it.  "  —  innumerable  types,  of 
which  the  first  generating  ideas  having  a  bearing  upon  —  " 
Here  Milburd  drops  in.  With  an  eyeglass  and  a  pipe. 
He 's  afraid  he  disturbs  us.  "  Not  in  the  least,"  from 
Boodels.  "  O  no,  not  at  all ;  not  the  slightest,"  from  me. 
What  '11  he  take  ?  Well,  nothing,  thank  you  ;  he  's  only 
just  dined.  "  Tea  ?  "  Are  we  going  to  have  tea  ?  "  Al- 
ways have  tea  now,"  says  Boodels.  "  You  '11  have  tea  "  (to 
me).  Of  course,  just  the  thing.  "  And  we  '11  read  after- 
wards, eh  ? "  Bell.  Butler.  Orders.  Boodels  explains  to 


40  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Milburd  that  I  was  reading  my  work  on  "  Typical  Develop- 
ments "  to  him.  Milburd  says,  "  O  yes,  very  nice.  Yes," 
as  if  it  was  jam,  and  goes  on  to  observe  that  "  he  'd  only 
come  round  to  know  about  dragging  the  pond."  Bell. 
Butler..  Butler  uncertain  as  to  to-morrow's  arrangements. 
Footman  with  tea.  Difficulties  with  window-shutters  be- 
tween footman  and  butler.  Complicated  by  the  assistance 
of  Boodels.  Further  complications  arising  from  Milburd 
"  lending  a  hand."  Departure  of  butler  and  footman.  We 
sit  down.  Milburd  's  afraid  he  's  disturbed  us  ;  would  I  go 
on  with  the  "  Biblical  Elephants  "  /  (This  fellow  's  a  fool. 
Biblical  elephants  !  Idiot.)  I  correct  him.  He  laughs 
stupidly,  and  says  it  would  have  been  funny  if  it  had  been 
elephants.  Boodels  says,  "  Yes,  it  would."  (N.  B.  I  am 
astonished  at  Boodels.)  I  remark  that  I  fear  my  paper 
won't  much  interest  him  (meaning  the  man  with  eyeglass, 
Milburd).  He  replies,  "  O  yes,  it  will.  Jolly.  He  likes 
being  read  to  like  winking."  He  seems  a  hearty  fellow, 
after  all.  Shall  I  begin  where  I  left  off?  or  from  the  begin- 
ning ?  Milburd  replies,  "  Let 's  have  all  we  can  for  the 
money  ;  the  beginning."  Very  well.  "  In  the  very  earliest 
and  darkest  ages  of — ."  Milburd  begs  my  pardon  one 
moment.  Has  Boodels  heard  that  the  niggers  are  at  the 
Inn  to-morrow  ;  the  Christy's,  or  something,  with  an  enter- 
tainment. He  tells  us  the  word  "darkest"  in  my  MS. 
had  put  it  into  his  head.  He  begs  pardon,  will  I  go  on,  as 
he  must  be  off  soon  ?  "  —  ages  of  our  ancient  earth,  before 
even  — ."  Butler,  without  being  called,  with  footman  to 
clear  away.  Then  footman  alone  with  the  chamber  candles. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  41 

Eleven  o'clock.  "  Not  eleven  ?  "  says  Milburd.  Boodels 
had  no  idea  it  was  so  late.  "  Past  eleven,  sir,"  observes 
the  butler.  Boodels  refers  to  me  for  the  exact  time.  I  say 
"i 1. 10."  Milburd,  through  his  eyeglass,  "makes  it,"  he 
says,  "11.15."  The  footman,  at  the  door,  appeals  to  the 
hall  clock,  which  'as  struck  just  as  he  came  in.  We  all  go 
to  the  hall.  Milburd  says,  "Ah,  he  makes  it  11.17."  We 
all  make  it  our  own  time,  and  Milburd  says  he  s'poses  he  '11 
hear  in  the  morning  about  dragging  the  pond.  P'raps  he  '11 
drop  in.  Not  into  the  pond.  "  Ha,  ha  !  "  (Hate  a  fellow 
who  laughs  at  his  own  jokes.)  Good  night !  good  night ! 
"  Nuisance  to  be  interrupted,"  says  Boodels,  going  up  stairs. 
"  I  ;m  very  much  interested  in  it.  Good  night !  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  '11  go  to  my  room,  and  read  it  over 
to  myself  with  a  view  to  corrections.  Now  *  *  *  * 

11.35.  —  A  knock  at  my  door.  Boodels  in  a  dressing- 
gown.  "  Come  to  hear  some  more  Typical  Develop- 
ments ? "  I  ask,  smiling.  No.  With  some  diffidence  he 
produces  a  manuscript,  and  tells  me  he  wants  my  opinion 
on  a  little  thing  of  his  own  —  a  —  in  fact  —  poem,  which  he 
thinks  of  sending  to  the  Piccadillytanty  Magazine.  Of 
course,  I  shall  be  delighted.  Did  n't  know  he  wrote  ? 
"O  yes,  often."  It  isn't  long,  I  suppose?  "O  no  — 
merely  thrown  off." 

12.  —  Middle  of  his  reading.  (N.  B.  I  never  can  follow 
poetry  when  I  hear  it  read  to  me  for  the  first  time.) 

12.15.  — Sti11  reading.  (Note.  That  last  line  rather 
pretty.)  Still  reading.  I  've  lost  the  thread. 


43  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

12.45.  —  Still  reading.  I've  asked  him  "to  read  those 
last  few  lines  over  again,"  in  order  to  show  that  I  am  in- 
terested. 

i  A.  M.  —  Still  reading.     He  is  my  host. 

1.20.. —  Still  reading.  I  say  something  feebly  about  that's 
not  being  quite  so  good  as  the  last.  I  make  this  note  too. 
I  don't  know  what  I  'm  saying. 

2.  —  I  think  he  's  begun  another.     I  don't  recollect  him 
finishing  the  other. 

3.  —  He  says  reproachfully,  "  Why,  you  're  asleep  !  "     I 
reply,  "  No,  no  !  merely  just  closing  my  eyes."     He  wants 
to  know  which  I  like  the  best.     It  appears  he  's  read  ten 
of  his  little  compositions.     I  say,  "  I  don't  quite  know  ;   I 
think  the  third  's  the  best,"  and  get  into  bed.     He  ob- 
serves, "  Ah,  you  can't  judge  all  at  once  ;  you  must  hear 
them  again.     Good  night,  old  boy  !  "     And  the  exact  time 
is  3.20.     O  my  head  ! 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

STILL   CHK2    &OODELS. —  THE   DOGS.  —  PROCEEDING   WITH 
TYPICAL    DEVELOPMENTS.  —  ON   INDISTINCT   NOTES. 

f  BOODELS.  The  morning  after  the  literary 
conversation  already  recorded.  Second  day  at 
Boodels.  6.30  A.  M.  exact  time.  It 's  wonderful 
to  me  how  Boodels  (of  Boodels)  manages  to  get 
up  at  half  past  six  in  the  morning,  after  going  to  bed  at  3.20. 
He  does  do  it,  with  a  horn,  too,  which  he  comes  to  my  bed- 
side and  blows  (his  idea  of  hearty  fun  !)  and  with  dogs, 
which  he  brings  into  one's  room.  I  did  n't  see  the  animals 
last  night ;  now  I  do.  I  don't  like  them,  —  at  least  in  my 
bedroom.  There  's  one  Skye,  a  black-and-tan,  a  pug,  and 
an  undecided  terrier.  He  explains  that  two  of  'em  always 
sleep  in  his  room,  and  he  then  makes  them  jump  on  my 
bed. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  lock  your  bedroom  door,  on 
account  of  sleep-walkers.  I  recollect  a  story  of  a  monk 
stabbing  a  mattress,  and  somebody  going  mad  afterwards, 
which  shows  how  necessary  it  is  to  lock  the  door  of  your 
cell.  At  all  events,  it  keeps  out  any  one  with  a  horn,  and 
dogs. 

6.35.  —  Boodels  says  (while  dogs  are  scampering  about), 


44  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

"  Lovely  morning,  old  boy,"  and  pulls  up  my  blinds.  I  like 
to  find  out  it 's  a  lovely  morning  for  myself,  and  pull  up  my 
own  blinds,  or  else  I  get  a  headache.  The  undecided  ter- 
rier and  the  pug  are  growling  at  what  they  can  see  of 
me  abgve  the  counterpane.  I  try  (playfully,  of  course,  be- 
cause Boodels  is  my  host)  to  kick  them  off,  but  they  only 
snap  at  my  toes.  Boodels  says,  "  They  think  they  're  rats. 
Ah,  they  're  as  sensible  as  Christians,  when  they  know  you." 
They  don't  know  me,  however,  and  go  on  taking  my  toes 
for  rats. 

6.35  to  6.45.  —  Boodels  says,  "  We  '11  have  a  little  air, 
eh  ?  "  and  opens  both  windows.  He  says,  "  There,  that 's 
better."  I  reply,  "  Yes,  that 's  better,"  and  turn  on  my 
side,  trying  to  imagine,  by  shutting  my  eyes,  that  Boodels, 
with  dogs,  is  not  in  the  room. 

Happy  Thought  (made  in  my  note-book  suddenly  under 
the  clothes,  A  Iways  have  note-book  under  my  pillow,  while 
collecting  materials).  —  "  Poodles  "  rhymes  to  "  Boodels." 

He  then  says,  examining  his  horn,  "  This  is  how  they  get 
you  up  in  Switzerland  "  ;  and  then  he  blows  it,  by  way  of 
illustration.  He  says,  "  That  would  n't  come  in  badly  in  an 
entertainment,  would  it  ?"  He  suggests  that  it  would  come 
in  capitally  when  I  give  a  public  reading.  At  this  point,  the 
voice  of  James,  the  footman,  summons  the  dogs  below. 
Rush  —  scamper  —  rush  —  avalanche  of  dogs  heard  tum- 
bling down  stairs. 

Boodels  says,  "  James  always  feeds  'em."  I  reply,  sleepily, 
"  Very  kind."  Boodels  says,  "  What  ?  "  I  answer,  rather 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  45 

louder,  that  "  it 's  very  kind,"  and  keep  my  eyes  shut 
Boodels  won't  take  a  hint.  He  goes  on  —  "  Look  at  this 
horn  !  ain't  it  a  rum  un  ? "  and  I  am  obliged  to  open  my 
eyes  again.  I  ask  him,  feebly,  where  he  got  it.  Boodels 
says,  "  What  ?  "  (I  begin  to  think  he  's  deaf.)  And  I  have 
to  repeat,  "  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  "  He  then  begins  a 
story  about  a  fellow  in  Switzerland,  who,  &c.,  which  I  lose 
about  the  middle,  and  am  recalled  to  consciousness  by  his 
shaking  the  pillow,  and  saying,  "  Hi,  hi  !  You  're  asleep  !" 
I  explain,  as  if  hurt  by  the  insinuation,  "  No,  only  think- 
ing." Whereupon  Boodels  says,  "  Ought  to  think  about 
getting  up."  [This  is  what  he  calls  being  happy  at  a  repar- 
tee. I  find  he  rather  prides  himself  on  this.]  "  Break- 
fast in  half  an  hour  ?  "  I  say,  "  Yes,  in  half  an  hour,"  lazily. 
He  is  silent  for  a  minute.  I  doze.  He  then  says,  "  What  ?  " 
And  I  repeat,  more  lazily,  to  show  him  I  've  no  idea  of  get- 
ting up  yet  awhile,  "  Yes,  in  half  an  hour."  Boodels  goes 
away.  I  doze.  He  reappears,  to  ask  me  some  question 
which  begins,  "  O,  do  you  think  that  —  "  But  he  changes 
his  mind,  and  says,  "  Ah,  well,  it  doesn't  matter!"  adding, 
in  a  tone  of  remonstrance,  "  You  're  not  getting  up  !  "  and 
disappears  again,  leaving,  as  I  afterwards  found,  the  door 
open. 

I  doze.  *  *  *  *  Something  in  my  room.  I  look,  inquiringly, 
over  the  side  of  the  bed.  A  bull-dog,  alone  !  White,  with 
bandy  legs,  a  black  muzzle,  and  showing  his  teeth  :  what  a 
fancier,  I  believe,  would  call  a  beauty.  Don't  know  how 
to  treat  bull-dogs.  Wish  Boodels  would  shut  the  door  when 
he  goes  out.  I  look  at  the  dog.  The  dog  does  n't  stir,  but 


46  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

twitches  his  nostrils  up  and  down.  I  never  saw  a  dog  do 
that  before.  I  say  to  myself,  in  order  to  inspirit  myself, 
"  He  can't  make  me  out."  I  really  don't  like  to  get  up 
while  he  's  there. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  keep  my  eye  on  him,  sternly.  He 
keeps  his  eye  more  sternly  on  me.  Failure. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  pat  the  bedclothes  and  say  "  Poor 
old  boy,  then  !  Did  um,  a  poor  old  fellow,  then  !  a  leetle 
manikin,  then  ;  a  poo'  little  chappy  man,  then,"  —  and 
other  endearing  expressions :  his  eye  still  on  me  unflinch- 
ingly. Then  in  a  laudatory  tone,  "  He  was  a  fine  dog,  then, 
he  was  !  and  encouragingly,  "  Old  boy,  then  !  old  fellow  ! " 
His  eye  is  mistrustful ;  bull-dogs  never  growl  when  they  're 
going  to  fly  at  you  :  he  doesn't  growl. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  you  hit  a  bull-dog  over  the  front 
legs,  he  's  done.  If  not,  I  suppose  you  're  done.  [This  for 
my  chapter,  in  Typical  Developments,  on  "  Nature's  De- 
fences."] If  you  wound  a  lion  in  his  fore  paw,  he  '11  come 
up  to  you.  On  second  thought,  p'r'aps,  he  'd  come  up  to 
you  if  you  did  n't.  Bull-dogs  always  spring  at  your  throat. 
If  in  bed,  you  can  avoid  that  by  getting  under  the  clothes. 

Happy  Thought.  —  One  ought  always  to  have  a  bell  by 
the  bed  in  case  of  robbers,  and  a  pistol. 

7.45.  —  The  dog  has  been  here  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
and  I  can't  get  up.  Willks,  the  butler,  appears  with  my 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  47 

clothes  and  hot  water.  The  dog  welcomes  him,  —  so  do  I, 
gratefully.  He  says,  "  Got  Grip  up  here  with  you,  sir  ? 
He  don't  //offen  make  friends  with  strangers."  I  say,  with- 
out explanation,  "  Fine  dog,  that,"  as  if  I  'd  had  him  brought 
to  my  room  to  be  admired.  Willks,  the  butler,  informs  me 
that  "  Master  would  n't  take  forty  pounds  for  that  dog, 
sir";  and  I  say,  with  surprise,  "Wouldn't  he?"  Butler 
repeats,  "  No,  sir,  not  forty  pounds,  —  he  's  been  offered 
thirty."  Whereupon,  finding  I  've  been  on  a  wrong  tack 
(N.  B.  Never  be  on  a  wrong  tack  with  the  butler),  I  observe, 
knowingly,  as  if  I  was  making  a  bargain,  "  Ah,  I  should 
have  thought  about  thirty,  —  not  more,  though."  Butler 
says,  "  Yes,  sir,  Master  could  get  that,"  and  I  answer,  pos- 
itively, "  O  yes,  of  course,"  which  impresses  the  butler 
with  the  notion  that  I  'd  give  it  myself  any  day  of  the 
week.  Think  the  butler  likes  me  better  after  this  :  because 
if  I  'd  give  thirty  pounds  for  a  dog,  what  would  I  give  to  a 
Butler  ? 

I  calculate  upon  getting  ten  minutes  more  in  bed. 
"  What 's  the  exact  time  ?  "  The  butler  has  a  watch,  and 
is  ready.  "8.10."  "Exact?"  "Exact"  "Then"  (by 
way  of  a  further  delay)  "  bring  my  clothes,  please."  They 
are  here.  "  O,  well  "  (last  attempt),  "  my  boots."  Been 
here  some  time.  Then  I  must  get  up,  that 's  all.  That  is 
all,  and  I  get  up.  Breakfast.  Milburd  has  sent  in  to  know 
if  we  drag  the  pond  to-day.  Boodels  consults  Willks. 
"What  does  he  say,  eh?"  Willks  consults  the  footman, 
and  the  footman  says  the  gardener  has  been  to  see  a  man 
in  the  village  about  it,  and  it  can't  be  managed  to-day.  All 


.*8  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

the  dogs  are  at  our  breakfast,  whining  for  bits,  and  scratch- 
ing at  my  trousers  to  attract  attention. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Politic  to  feed  strange  dogs.  Specially 
the  bull-dog. 

Terrier  still  vicious.  Boodels  says,  "  O,  he  '11  soon 
know  you."  I  hope  he  will.  I  hate  a  dog  who  follows 
you,  and  then  flies  at  your  legs.  Boodels  says,  "  Well,  if 
we  don't  drag  the  pond,  you  'd  like  to  get  on  with  your 
work,  eh?"  With  Typical  Developments?  Certainly: 
very  much.  Boodels  is  fond  of  literature,  and  says  that  I 
can  go  to  my  room,  and  sha'  n't  be  disturbed  all  day.  I  ob- 
serve, I  should  like  to  get  to  work  at  once.  Just  9.30 : 
capital  time.  I  show  him  that  I  can  do  a  good  deal  to 
Chapter  I  between  9.30  and  I.  He  is  glad  to  hear  it; 
and  I  tell  him  that,  if  he  likes,  I  '11  read  what  I  've  done  to 
him  in  the  evening.  He  says  he  should  like  that.  I  say, 
"  I  won't,  if  it  bores  you."  He  answers,  "  Bore  me !  I 
should  be  delighted  !  "  I  tell  him  I  like  reading  out  aloud 
to  an  appreciative  frjend,  because  he  can  give  advice.  He 
says  "  Yes,"  rather  quickly,  and  proposes  one  turn,  just  as 
far  as  the  pond,  before  I  sit  down  to  work.  I  think  I  ought 
to  get  to  work  ;  but  how  far  is  the  pond  ?  "  Not  a  hundred 
yards,  or  so."  Very  well ;  just  one  turn,  and  then  in. 
"  With  a  cigar  ?  "  Well,  p'raps,  a  very  mild  cigar.  We 
are  at  the  garden  door. 

9.40. —  Excellent  time.  Still  at  the  garden  door.  The 
butler  and  the  footman  have  been  looking  for  Boodels's  little 
stick  with  a  notch  in  it.  Boodels  says  "  It 's  very  extraor- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  49 

dinary  they  can't  leave  that  stick  alone."  That  being  found 
(in  Boodels's  bedroom,  by  the  way),  we  want  the  matches. 
Butler  thought  they  were  in  the  study.  Footman  (who  is 
followed  everywhere  by  all  the  dogs  while  clearing  away) 
recollects  seeing  them  there  last  night.  Thinks  Anne,  the 
housemaid,  must  have  taken  them.  Will  ask  her.  Boodels 
says,  "  It 's  very  extraordinary  they  can't  leave  the  matches 
alone."  Anne,  from  a  distance,  —  voice  only  heard,  —  says 
she  ain't  touched  them  ever  since  they  were  put  back  last 
night.  Being  appealed  to  before  the  footman  and  butler, 
I  say,  "I  think  I  recollect  them  in  the  study,"  —  trying  to 
corroborate  everybody.  Subsequently,  Willks  finds  them 
in  Boodels's  bedroom. 

I  a  —  Now,  then,  for  one  turn,  and  then  in  to  work  hard  at 
my  MS.  Willks  asks  Boodels,  "Will  he  speak  to  the  cook 
about  dinner  ? "  "  O  yes,"  Boodels  answers,  "  or  you 
won't  get  any  dinner."  This  to  me,  good-humoredly.  I 
laugh  (stupid  joke,  really),  and  say,  "  Well,  make  haste  !  " 
While  he  's  away,  I  think  of  the  first  sentence  I  '11  write 
when  I  get  in,  so  as  not  to  waste  time.  "  In  the  very  ear- 
liest and  darkest  ages  of  our  ancient  earth,  —  "  when  Boo- 
dels comes  back  quickly  to  know  if  I  like  turbot.  Yes,  I 
don't  care.  Because  there's  a  man  come  with  turbot. 
"  One  can't  get,"  he  explains,  "  fish  regularly  in  the  coun- 
try." I  answer,  "  O,  anything."  He  says  I  'd  better 
come  and  see  the  turbot.  He  's  no  judge.  I  protest,  "  No 
more  am  I."  But  he  thinks,  at  all  events,  I  'd  better  see  'em. 
I  assent,  "Very  well."  He  says,  "What?"  (He  must  be 
deaf  sometimes.)  I  explain  that  I  only  said  "  Very  well." 
3  D 


SO  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

We  go  to  the  turbot  man.  The  cook  is  already  there.  We 
are  joined  by  the  butler.  The  footman  looks  in.  Booclels 
asks  him  if  he  thinks  they  're  good.  He  replies,  "  Yes, 
sir,  looks  very  nice,"  and  refers  to  the  butler.  The  butler 
is  a  little  uncertain  at  first,  but  decides  for  the  turbot.  I 
say,  "  Yes,  I  think  very  nice."  The  housemaid,  passing  by, 
stops  for  a  moment  with  her  broom,  and  says  nothing. 
Cook  feels  them,  and  weighs  them  in  her  hand.  We  are 
all  silent,  meditating.  Turbot  settled  on.  When  I  get  back 
to  the  hall,  it  is  10.45.  Boodels  says,  "  Now,  one  turn  to 
the  pond,  and  back,  just  to  freshen  you  up."  I  say,  "  Very 
well,  and  then  I  must  get  to  work." 

Happy  Thought.  —  While  walking  I  need  n't  waste  time  : 
make  notes. 

N.  B.  For  the  benefit  of  note-takers,  I  insert  this.  Always 
make  your  notes  as  full  as  possible  ;  if  not,  much  trouble 
is  caused.  Thus,  with  my  notes,  when  I  came  in  — 

First  Valuable  Note  in  Book.  —  "  Snails —  why  —  who  " 
—  What  the  dickens  was  it  I  thought  about  snails  ? 
Snails,  let  me  see.  Quarter  of  an  hour  lost  over  this  :  give 
it  up.  Try  next  valuable  note  —  "  Ogygia  —  seen  —  Philip 
• — bttt  was  n't"  Ogygia:  what  was  it  made  me  think  of 
that  ?  Philip  !  I  recollect  saying  something  about  Philip, 
very  good,  to  Boodels.  He  laughed:  that  was  the  thing, 
he  said,  ought  to  be  in  some  magazine.  Can't  remember 
it.  Try  next  valuable  note:  "  Floreate  hues  —  firkins  — 
why  not  ?  "  Can't  make  it  out. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  to  make  full  notes  in  future. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

ON     POCKET-BOOKS.  —  PROGRESS    OF    TYPICAL    DEVELOP- 
MENTS. —  INTERRUPTIONS. 

\.APPY  THOUGHT.  — \  find  that,  generally 
speaking,  materials  for  the  lives  of  remarkable 
men  are  found  in  their  pocket-books.  Shall  use 
pocket-books  in  future.  By  the  way,  Milburd 
spoils  Boodels.  I  regret  it,  but  he  does.  Boodels  used  to 
sit  for  hours  either  listening  to  me  reading  my  manuscripts 
to  him,  or  enjoying  my  conversation.  Now  he  does  n't,  and 
has  taken  to  personal  remarks,  which  he  calls  repartee 
(hate  it),  and  he  and  Milburd  play  at  Clown  and  Pantaloon 
in  the  passage.  It 's  really  waste  of  life  and  talents.  *  *  *  * 
Talking  of  that,  let  me  get  to  work. 

1 1  o'clock,  A.  M.  —  By  the  exact  time,  which  I  have  just 
given  Boodels  from  the  top  of  the  stairs.  Ought  to  have 
begun  at  nine.  Good  room  for  writing  my  Typical  Develop, 
incuts  in.  View  of  a  lawn.  No  noise.  Boodels  said  I 
should  be  undisturbed,  and  quite  alone.  I  like  that  in 
Boodels :  he  is  considerate,  when  he  sees  you  are  in  ear- 
nest. Delightful  morning  :  just  enough  breeze  to  cause  a 
sigh  through  the  trees.  N.  B.  Must  n't  forget  "  breeze " 
and  "  trees  "  when  I  write  a  serenade.  [Mentioned  this 
idea,  subsequently,  on  a  lovely  moonlight  night,  to  Mil- 
burd, who  immediately  made  a  hideous  grimace,  and  said, 
"  Yah  !  yah  !  yah  !  Ho  !  "  with  a  sort  of  steam-engine  whis- 


52  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

tie,  "  Nigger  !  are  you  dar  ?  Bolly  golly  black  man,  boo  !  " 
and  then  he  and  Boodels  both  laughed.  What  at  ?  I  pitied 
them.  Boodels  is  really  losing  all  sense  of  poetry.  Mil- 
burd  said  that  my  saying  "  serenade "  had  suggested  the 
Ethiopian  Serenaders  to  him.] 

***** 

To  work.  Typical  Developments,  Book  I.,  Volume  I., 
Section  I,  Chapter  I,  Paragraph  I.  "In  the  very  earliest 
and  darkest  ages  of  our  ancient  earth,  before  even  the  Grand 
Primeval  forests  could  boast  the  promise  of  an  incipient  bud, 
there  existed  in  the  inexhaustible  self-inexhausting  Possible, 
innumerable  types,  of  which  the  first  generating  ideas  having 
a  bearing  upon  the  forms  of  the  Future,  were  at  that  moment 
in  too  embryotic  a  condition  for  beneficial  production."  Good. 
I  think  that  'sgood,  — very  good.  I  'm  getting  into  the  swing. 
My  ideas  flow.  Paragraph  No.  2.  Now.  "  Man  at  once 
possible  and  impossi  — "  Knock  at  the  door :  nuisance  : 
pretend  not  to  hear  it.  "  And  impossi  —  "  Knock.  "  Come 
in,"  I  say,  very  pleasantly.  It  is  Willks,  the  butler,  diffidently. 
"  O,  sir,  Master  thinks  he  left  his  cigar-case  here."  I  have  n't 
seen  it,  and  I  don't  rise  to  look.  The  butler  says,  "  No,  he 
don't  see  it,"  begs  pardon,  and  retires.  I  hear  Boodels  on 
the  landing,  saying,  "  It 's  very  odd  they  can't  leave  my  cigar- 
case  alone  !  "  The  slightest  interruption  gets  you  out  of  the 
swing  of  ideas.  I  must  try  back  again.  "  Man  at  once  pos- 
sible and  —  "  Knock  at  the  door.  "  Come  in."  Boodels 
puts  his  head  in,  and  sings,  "  Who  's  dat  a-knocking  at  de 
door  ? "  as  if  that  placed  the  interruption  in  a  more  so- 
ciable point  of  view.  It  only  reminds  me  of  that  idiot, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  53 

Milburd.  I  think  Milburd  copies  Boodels,  or  Boodels 
Milburd.  Whichever  it  is,  I  hate  an  imitation.  However, 
he  explains  that  he  would  n't  disturb  me  without  knock- 
ing first,  as  if  he  'd  have  disturbed  me  more  by  not  knock- 
ing. I  look  as  pleasant  as  possible  ;  he  wants  my  advice, 
he  says.  I  am  flattered  ;  though  if  he  did  n't  come  to  me, 
his  old  friend,  for  advice  in  a  difficult  matter,  to  whom 
should  he  go  ?  Not  Milburd.  He  commences  by  asking, 
"  How  are  you  getting  on,  eh  ? "  and  I  answer,  "  O,  pretty 
well,"  when  Willks  returns  with  the  cigar-case,  which  has, 
it  appears,  been  (as  usual)  found  in  Boodels's  bedroom.  As 
Boodels  after  this  seems  inclined  to  wander,  I  bring  him 
back  to  the  point  by  asking  what  he  was  going  to  say  to 
me.  Boodels  waits  a  minute,  looking  out  of  window,  and 
then  says,  "  What  ?  "  (He  is  getting  deaf.  If  he  gets  very 
deaf,  I  shall  go  away.)  I  repeat  my  question.  He  replies, 
"  O  yes  ;  look  here.  Do  you  think  I  ought  to  give  the 
man  who  came  about  .dragging  the  pond  a  shilling,  or 
not  ? "  I  try  to  interest  myself  in  the  question.  "  Well," 
I  say,  dubiously,  "  what 's  he  done  ?  "  "  Well,"  explains 
Boodels,  "  he  has  n't  exactly  done  much  ;  but  he  's  been  up 
to  the  pond,  and  examined  it,  and  so  forth,  you  know."  I 
say,  decisively,  to  show  that  I  'm  a  man  of  business,  "  O 
yes,  give  him  a  shilling,"  and  take  up  my  pen  again,  by  way 
of  a  hint  to  Boodels.  "  It 's  rather  too  much  to  give  him, 
eh,  for  merely  looking  at  a  pond  ? "  objects  Boodels.  I  re- 
turn, settling  to  write  again,  "  O  no  !  "  as  if  I  generally 
gave  double  that  sum.  "  What  ?  "  says  Boodels.  (He  must 
be  deaf.)  I  explain  that  I  only  said,  "  O  no."  "  <  O  no  P 


54  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

What  ? "  he  asks,  rather  testily.  I  think  he 's  in  a  nasty 
temper  :  you  never  know  a  man  well  till  you  stay  with  him. 
Happy  Thought  that.  I  lay  down  my  pen.  "  Well,"  I  ex- 
plain, mildly,  because  it 's  no  use  having  a  row  with  Boodels 
about  this  confounded  pond,  "  I  mean  if  the  man  has  come 
to  —  to  —  or  if  he  merely  —  why  —  that  is,  if  the  fellow  — 
I  own  I  am  wandering.  Boodels  notices  it,  and  says,  with 
some  tinge  of  annoyance  in  his  tone,  "  I  came  to  ask  your 
advice  ;  I  really  thought  you  might  have  attended  to  me  for 
one  minute.  You  can't  be  so  busy  as  all  that."  I  feel  hurt. 
Some  people  are  easily  moved  to  tears.  A  little  more,  and 
I  should  be  moved  to  tears.  As  he  is  going  out  of  the 
door  (he  's  hurt,  too),  he  turns  back,  somewhat  mollified, 
and  asks  me,  "  I  say,  if  I  give  him  a  shilling,  to-morrow, 
when  he  comes  with  the  net,  it  will  do,  eh  ? "  I  say,  en- 
thusiastically, "Yes,  that'll  do,  —  the  very  thing  !"  which 
only  elicits  from  Boodels  a  "  What  ?"  and  I  have  to  repeat, 
encouragingly,  "  Yes,  that 's  the  idea !  A  shilling  to-mor- 
row, —  capital !  "  Boodels  leaves  me,  and  as  he  does  so  I 
feel  a  sort  of  pity  for  Boodels,  I  don't  know  why,  and  then 
become  sensible  of  a  beast  of  a  fly  on  my  neck.  Bother  ! 
Missed  him  !  By  the  way,  when  you  do  miss  a  fly,  can't 
you  hurt  your  ear  tremendously  !  It 's  a  buzzing  fly.  I  '11 
get  a  book,  and  smash  him.  *  *  *  *  I  have  got  a  book, 
but  I  have  n't  smashed  him  ;  at  least,  I  don't  think  so. 
*  *  *  *  I  hate  uncertainty  as  to  whether  you  've  killed 
an  insect,  or  not.  They  turn  up  afterwards  with  three 
legs  and  one  wing  —  a  sort  of  Chelsea  pensioner  of 
an  insect  —  in  uncomfortable  places.  Think  I  had  him 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  55 

there.  No.  Had  the  ink,  though.  That  '11  be  a  nuisance. 
Ink  always  hangs  about  the  side  of  your  little  finger,  and 
smears  itself  all  about  your  papers  after  you  think  it 's  all 
been  dried  up  with  care.  Bless  it !  inked  my  light  trousers 
conspicuously.  Inked  my  wristband.  Inked  everything 
within  reach.  Brute  of  a  fly  !  *  *  *  * 

Paragraph  No.  2.  "  Man  at  once  possible  and  impos- 
sible "  —  let  me  see  —  "  man  at  once  poss  —  "  Knock  at  the 
door  ;  I  wish  I  could  abstract  myself.  Knock  again  :  ap- 
pearance of  Boodels's  head.  "  Only  me,  Sambo  !  "  says 
Boodels.  (What  a  fool  Boodels  is  getting  !  but  I  laugh,  be- 
cause he  's  my  host ;  I  should  n't  if  it  was  that  donkey  Mil- 
burd.  For  my  part  I  don't  believe  that  black  people  go 
about  grinning  out  "  yah,  yah,"  and  asking  each  other  rid- 
dles and  "  gibhing  'em  up  "  like  Boodels  and  Milburd  do  ; 
or  else  where  are  the  Missionaries  ?  Happy  Thought  that.) 
Boodels  comes  in  an'd  says,  kindly  and  seriously,  "  I 
would  n't  disturb  you,  old  boy,  without  first  knocking,  cos 
I  know  how  busy  you  are."  I  thank  him,  and  say  it 
does  n't  matter.  "  It 's  very  near  luncheon-time,"  says 
Boodels.  Good  heavens  !  and  I  've  only  written  six  lines. 
It  appears  that  he  came  up  to  tell  me  this,  and  to  ask  if  I  'd 
like  to  lunch  later,  say  at  two.  By  all  means.  "  What  ?  " 
asks  Boodels.  (How  provoking  it  is  to  hear  a  fellow  always 
saying  "what  ?'•)  I  explain  that  I  only  said,  "  Yes,  by  all 
means,'  and  add,  inadvertently,  "as  the  old  Duke  of  Cam- 
bridge used  to  say  in  Church."  "  O,  what 's  that  ?  "  in- 
quires Boodels,  and  I  have  to  tell  him  the  story,  beginning 
'*  O,  it  was  only  that  the  old  Duke  once,"  &c.,  and  it  does  n't 


$6  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

come  out  well  after  all ;  besides,  when  I  finish,  it  appears 
that  Boodels  knew  it,  only  he  thought  it  was  something  else. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  get  up  a  few  stories  to  tell  well 
Makes  you  popular  in  country  houses.  I  find  that  every 
one  knows  this  one  about  the  old  Duke  of  Cambridge. 
Willks,  the  butler,  announces  Mr.  Milburd  and  another 
gentleman  down  stairs,  just  when  Boodels  had  begun  to 
recollect  a  story.  Lucky,  very.  "  Who  is  the  other  gen- 
tleman ?"  He  did  n't  catch  the  name,  but  Mr.  Milburd  has 
come  to  see  about  the  pond.  Boodels,  wondering  "  who  the 
other  fellow  is,"  leaves,  reminding  me,  "lunch  at  two." 
Thank  goodness  !  for  the  next  hour,  if  there  is  an  hour,  — 
no,  three  quarters, ' —  I  shall  be  at  peace. 

Let  me  get  into  the  swing  again  :  now  then.  Read  over 
first  few  lines.  *  *  *  *  Good.  Now :  Paragraph  2.  "  Man 
at  once  possible  and  impossible  was  by  his  original  desti- 
nation — "  Odd  sound,  now,  as  if  people  were  creeping 
about  on  tiptoe  outside  my  door.  It  is  impossible  to  write 
when  you  've  a  nervous  feeling  of  people  hovering  about 
you.  Let  me  abstract  myself.  "  Man  at  once  possible  — 
Knock  at  the  door.  "  Come  in."  A  tall  gentleman  appears 
in  a  shooting-suit,  with  very  long  light  beard,  reddish  mus- 
tachios,  and  a  slouching  white  hat  in  his  hand.  With  him, 
Boodels.  I  have  never  seen  the  tall  gentleman  before  :  I 
rise.  Boodels  apologizes  :  "  I  told  Captain,"  name  I  don't 
catch,  "  that  we  must  n't  disturb  you,  but  he  said  as  he  's 
going  away  almost  immediately  "  (by  the  way,  he  was  here 
the  whole  afternoon  and  then  missed  his  train)  "  he  'd  like 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  57 

to  —  "  Here  Boodels  looks  at  the  Captain,  and  that  gen- 
tleman, evidently  feeling  that  his  opportunity  has  been  thrust 
upon  him  rather  too  suddenly,  pulls  at  his  mustache,  and 
says,  with  a  short,  jerky,  nervous  laugh,  "  Ya-ya,  ya-as,  ya, 
ya,"  not  unlike  that  Milburd's  boasted  negro  delineations, 
only  that  it 's  natural.  "  You-ar-don't  r-remember  me  ?  " 
No,  I  don't  remember  him.  I  try  to,  feeling  that  I  ought 
to  remember  him.  I  smile  and  shake  my  head.  I  have  n't 
even  the  faintest  recollection.  He  is  somewhat  taken  aback 
by  this  non-recognition  ;  I  don't  wonder  at  it,  seeing  that  I 
hear,  afterwards,  how,  when  he  thought  I  was  miles  away, 
he  had  exclaimed  on  hearing  my  name,  "  Know  him  !  I 
should  think  so.  Ah,  I  should  like  to  see  him  again."  He 
looks  at  me,  almost  imploringly.  Boodels  looks  anyhow, 
and  the  tall  man  says,  half  defiantly,  "  My  name  's  Cawker." 
His  face  bothered  me,  but  his  face  and  his  name  together 
have  knocked  me  over. 

Feeling  that  something  hearty  is  expected  of  me,  I  say, 
radiantly,  "  O,  of  course,  Cawker!  How  are  you?"  In 
fact,  I  am  very  nearly  overdoing  it  upon  the  spot,  and  calling 
him  Old  Cawker.  We  shake  hands  heartily,  and  I  suppose, 
to  myself,  that  in  the  course  of  conversation  he  '11  let  out 
where  the  dickens  I  've  seen  him  before.  Cawker  laughs 
very  nervously.  "  Ya-a-a  —  have  n't-a-a  —  seen  you  far  — 
(he  puts  a  for  o  very  often,  I  notice,  but  this  does  n't  recall 
him  to  my  memory)  —  "far  an  age."  Then  he  laughs,  and 
so  does  Boodels.  Why  ?  I  answer  steadily,  "  No,  not 
since  — "  and  I  leave  him  to  fill  up  the  blank,  which  he 
does,  unsatisfactorily,  with  a  laugh.  There  we  stop.  After 
3* 


58  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

awhile,  Captain  Cawker,  who  has  been  staring  at  my  papers, 
says  cleverly,  "  Writing  something,  eh  ? "  and  laughs.  I 
reply  that  I  am  writing  something,  "  Yes."  He  answers, 
"  Ah,  ya-a-as  —  not  much  in  my  line,  writing."  I  say,  "  No  ? 
Indeed  ? "  flatteringly,  to  give  him  the  idea  that  he  might  do 
it  if  he  liked.  Boodels  comes  to  the  rescue.  It  appears 
Cawker  and  I  were  schoolfellows.  Ah,  I  know  now.  He 
used  to  be  hated,  and  called  "  Snobby "  Cawker,  but  I 
don't  remind  him  of  this.  "You're  so  altered,"  I  tell  him. 
"  Ya-a-a-as,"  he  returns,  conceitedly,  stroking  his  red  mus- 
tache, "  Ya-a-a-as.  You  're  not.  I  recollect  him  "  (here 
he  turns  to  Boodels,  and  talks  of  me)  "at  school."  Here  I 
begin  to  be  interested.  "  He  was  a  little,  short,  pudgy,  fat 
fellow,  all  suetty."  I  am  obliged  to  laugh  ;  but  when  he  's 
gone,  I  '11  tell  Boodels  that  we  used  to  call  him  "  Snobby  " 
Cawker  at  school.  I  wish  I  had  n't  said  he  was  altered. 

Boodels  cuts  in.  "  Well,  come  along,  we  must  n't  delay 
you.  Cawker  (who  is  a  Captain  too  !  Snobby  Cawker  a 
Captain  ?  how  the  Army  must  be  going  down  !)  says,  "  Ya-as 
—  leave  him  to  his  writing,  ya-a-as,"  and  laughs.  I  feel  as 
if  I  could  give  up  writing  there  and  then,  and  be  transported 
for  merely  one  kick  at  Cawker.  Boodels  wants  Cawker  to 
come  and  take  a  turn  before  lunch. 

Happy  Thought.  —  As  I  have  n't  been  able  to  get  on 
with  Typical  Developments  this  morning,  I  '11  pretend  to  go 
to  bed  early,  and  work  to-night.  And  as  I  only  came  here 
to  see  a  little  life,  that  is,  I  mean,  see  the  pond  dragged,  if 
it  is  n't  dragged  the  day  after  to-morrow,  I  go.  Luncheon 
bell. 


CHAPTER    X. 

CHEZ  BOODELS. — AFTER-DINNER  SIESTA.  —  A  PRIVATF 
READING.  —  A  NIGHT  WITH  THE  DOGS.  —  REPARTEEISM. 
—  LEAVING  BOODELS. 

N  this  evening  I  will  retire  to  my  room  early,  to 
work  at  Typical  Developments,  Book  I.,  Volume 
I.,  Section  i,  Chapter  i,  Paragraph  2.     I  feel 
that  if  I  don't  do  it  now,  while  I  am  in  the  vein, 
I  never  shall. 

9.30  P.  M.  —  We  are  alone,  Boodels  (of  Boodels)  and  I,  in 
the  study.  I  shall  leave  Boodels,  unless  he  drags  the  pond 
to-morrow,  because  that 's  what  I  came  down  for.  Boodels 
praises  Milburd  in  his  absence,  as  if  he  was  disparaging 
me.  I  don't  like  the  tone.  Shall  leave  Boodels  unless  he 
drags  the  pond  to-morrow. 

I  am  now  sitting  with  my  note-book  in  my  hand,  so  as 
not  to  waste  my  time,  watching  Boodels.  Boodels  is  ap- 
parently going  to  sleep  in  his  arm-chair.  Good.  When 
Boodels  is  asleep,  I  shall  retire  very  quietly  to  my  room. 
It's  a  bad  habit,  that  of  Boodels's,  sleeping  after  dinner. 
He  is  only  dozing  ;  if  I  move,  he  '11  wake.  I  '11  pretend  to 
read ;  but  I  '11  watch.  I  am  going  to  think,  so  as  not  to 
waste  time.  Can't  fix  my  thoughts.  Something  flits  through 
my  brain  about  Mesopotamia,  —  then  fire-irons, — then 
cockles,  —  then  — 

***** 
/'ve  been  asleep.     Boodels  has  gone. 


60  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

IIP.  M.  —  Another  evening  passed,  and  no  Typical  De- 
velopments done.  Willks,  the  butler,  appears  with  my  bed 
candle,  and  says  that  his  master  is  smoking  a  cigar  up 
stairs.  I  '11  just  say  "good  night"  to  him,  and  then  to 
work — to  work  in  the  silent  night  —  at  Typical  Develop- 
ments, Volume  I.,  Book  I.,  Section  I,  Chapter  i,  Para- 
graph 2. 

I  find  Boodels  on  a  sofa,  with  all  his  dogs.  They  jump 
up  and  bark  at  me ;  all  except  the  bull-dog,  who  creeps 
round  me,  smelling  my  calves. 

This  noise  makes  Boodels  quite  lively.  He  says,  "  O, 
don't  go  to  bed  yet."  I  plead  "work."  He  says,  "Bring 
it  in  here."  Sha'  n't  I  disturb  him?  "Not  in  the  least: 
he  'd  like  it ;  wants  to  hear  how  I  'm  getting  on."  I  like 
Boodels  when  you  've  got  him  alone ;  he  's  himself  then. 
Evil  Milburds  corrupt  good  Boodels.  I  think  of  this  while 
I  fetch  my  MS.  My  paper  is  spread  out:  pens,  ink,  all 
ready. 

My  last  sentence  where  I  left  off  commences,  "  Man  at 
once  possible  and  impossible  —  "  I  stick  there.  Boodels 
is  petting  the  dogs,  and  it  distracts  me.  Seeing  that  it  lias 
this  effect,  Boodels  considerately  tells  the  dogs  to  lie  down, 
and  then  he  smokes  solemnly.  Somehow,  this  distracts 
me  more  than  ever.  I  feel  a  strong  desire  to  talk.  I  must 
get  myself  into  the  swing.  Would  Boodels  mind  my  read- 
ing aloud  just  to  get  myself  into  the  swing?  "  No  :  he'd 
like  it  immensely." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  try  to  interest  your  host. 

I  tell  him  that  I  consider  him  as  representing  a  section 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  6l 

of  the  public,  and  I  should  like  to  have  his  opinion.  "  Can- 
didly ? "  he  asks.  "  Candidly,"  I  answer,  "  as  a  friend." 
He  says,  "  Very  well ;  fire  away."  I  fire  away.  I  read  what 
I  've  done.  *  *  *  *  Well,  how  does  he  like  it  ?  "  Can- 
didly ?  "  he  asks.  Yes,  of  course.  Well,  then,  he  does  n't 
like  it  at  all.  He  does  n't  set  up  for  a  judge,  he  admits.  I 
should  think  not.  Boodels  a  judge  of  this  sort  of  thing  ? 
Good  heavens  !  I  tell  him  that  I  don't  think  he  under- 
stands it.  He  answers,  rather  techily,  "Very  likely  not." 
I  ask  what  passage  he  finds  fault  with  ?  He  answers  that 
"  he  dislikes  the  idea."  I  say,  "  Hang  it !  dislike  the  idea ! 
That  's  confoundedly  illogical."  He  replies,  that  he  's 
not  a  logician  ;  and  if  he  'd  known  I  would  have  got  so 
angry  on  hearing  an  honest  opinion,  why —  "Angry! 
No,  dash  it!  I'm  not  angry;  because  there's  nothing  I 
like  to  hear  better  than  an  honest  opinion ;  but  I  mean  to 
say  that  if  he  dislikes  this  of  mine,  why,  he  wouldn't  care 
about  Buckle's  History  of  Civilization,  or  Darwin's  '  Book'  " 
(I  forget  the  name,  so  I  call  it  "  book  " ),  "  or  Hume,  or  old 
Jeremy  Bentham  "  (I  like  saying  "  old  Jeremy,"  it  sounds 
familiar),  "  or  the  ancient  metaphysical  writers "  (I  think 
this  will  shake  him  a  little),  "  or,  in  fact,  any  of  those  fel- 
lows." I  did  n't  want  to  say  "  fellows,"  feeling  that  it  rather 
lowered  the  tone  of  my  argument.  Boodels  rejoins,  sharply, 
"  Good  heavens  !  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  put  yourself  on 
a  par  with  Darwin,  and  Buckle,  and  Bentham!"  I  don't 
say  I  do.  He  says,  "What?"  I  repeat,  loudly,  "I  don't 
say  I  do."  He  takes  me  up  —  he  is  very  nasty  to-night, 
"  Do.  indeed  !  I  should  think  not."  He  adds,  that  he 


62  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

does  n't  know  what  I  mean  by  Typical  Developments,  ano 
he  supposes  that  I  don't  either.  I  repress  myself,  — he  is 
my  host,  — and  luckily  recollecting  a  repartee  of  Sheridan's, 
or  some  one's,  which  I  've  used  successfully  on  several  oc- 
casions, I  say,  with  quiet  satire,  "  My  dear  fellow,  I  can't 
find  you  books  and  brains  too."  Having  said  it,  it  strikes 
me  that  1  had  n't  got  the  repartee  quite  right.  Boodels  re- 
turns, "  Find  brains  for  me !  You  must  have  sufficient 
difficulty  in  providing  yourself  with  that  article."  [N.  B. 
On  calm  consideration,  this  is  such  an  evident  reply  that  I 
don't  think  I  could  have  got  my  repartee  right.  If  I  did 
say  it  right,  why  did  n't  some  one  make  that  reply  to  Sher- 
idan ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  wits  of  whom  we  hear  so  much 
were  not  such  very  sharp  fellows,  after  all.  For  Typical 
Developments,  Chapter  XIII.,  when  I  get  to  it.] 

Silence.  Can't  see  the  answer  to  Boodels's  repartee. 
There  must  be  one.  Boodels  takes  his  candle  to  go  to 
bed.  We  shake  hands.  He  's  a  good  fellow,  after  all,  only 
he  ought  n't  to  talk  about  what  he  does  n't  understand.  I 
regret,  to  myself,  while  shaking  hands,  that  I  can't  think 
of  an  answer  to  Boodels's  repartee.  Something  about  "his 
not  having  any  brains "  would  do  it,  but  I  can't  see  my 
way.  He  makes  a  discovery.  We  've  been  talking  so 
much,  he 's  quite  forgotten  to  ring  for  Willks  to  take  the 
dogs  away.  All  servants  in  bed  now.  The  pug  always 
sleeps  in  his  (Boodels's)  room,  but  the  bull-dog  and  the  ter- 
rier ought  to  be  outside.  I  propose  letting  'em  out.  It 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  63 

appears  we  can't  without  disturbing  the  entire  household 
in  order  to  get  the  keys. 

A  happy  thought,  as  he  calls  it,  strikes  Boodels.  "  He 
will  take  the  pug  and  the  terrier  to  his  room,  and  I  shall 
tike  the  bull-dog  and  the  Skye  to  mine."  He  says,  "  It 's 
better  than  disturbing  the  whole  household."  I  don't  think 
so,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  won't  make  an  objection. 
1  hope  the  bull-dog  will  settle  the  matter  for  himself  by  re- 
fusing to  follow  me.  This  difficulty  is  obviated  by  Boodels 
carrying  him.  Boodels  wishes  me  "  good  night,"  and  re- 
tires with  his  pug  and  the  terrier. 

12.30.  —  I  am  alone.  The  bull-dog  and  the  Skye  have  not 
moved  from  the  door.  The  Skye  is  sniffing,  and  the  bull  is 
watching  me,  mistrustfully.  I  '11  take  no  notice  of  them,  but 
put  on  my  dressing-gown,  and  sit  down  to  write.  While 
brushing  my  hair,  I  wish,  for  the  fourth  time,  that  I  'd 
thought  of  an  answer  to  Boodels's  repartee  about  brains. 

Now  for  an  hour's  quiet  work.  *  *  *  *  Both  dogs  have 
taken  to  sniffing,  or  whining,  alternately.  This  '11  drive  me 
distracted.  I  don't  like  to  turn  them  out  in  the  passage, 
Boodels  is  so  particular  about  his  dogs.  P'r'aps  they'll 
tire  themselves  out.  Let  me  write.  "  Man,  at  once  pos- 
sible and  impossible,  took  his  origin  from  the  pulverization 
of  hitherto  conflicting  natural  particles.  Man  was  developed, 
slowly,  among  the  ruins  of  a  mammoth  world,  to  rule  the 
brute  creation,  to  make  the  tawny  lion  bend  before  his  iron 
will,  to  —  '  That  infernal  bull-dog  has  got  on  the  bed  ;  just 
on  the  part  where  the  sheet  is  turned  down,  —  in  fact,  where 
I  get  in.  He  is  disposing  himself  for  sleep.  If  the  bull-dog 


64  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

sleeps  there,  I  don't.  I  '11  wait  till  he  's  asleep,  and  shake 
him  off  suddenly.  I  '11  bide  my  time.  Let  me  see.  "  Man 
—  to  rule  —  to  make  the  tawny  lion  bend  before  his  iron 
will,  to  —  subdue,  by  the  mesmeric  authority  of  his  intelli- 
gent eye,  the  stupendous  elephant,  the  "  (leave  a  blank  for  a 
good  epithet  here)  "  rhinoceros,  the  untamed  denizen  of  the 
Primeval  Jungle,  the  — "  The  bull-dog  is  asleep.  I  ap- 
proach the  bed  on  tiptoe.  He  knows  it,  the  beast ;  and 
growls,  without  taking  the  trouble  -to  open  his  eyes  !  I  re- 
tire to  my  chair.  How  am  I  to  get  into  bed  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  open  the  door.  Hang  Boodels,  I 
can't  help  it  if  he  likes  it  or  not ;  they  must  go  into  the  pas- 
sage. I  shall  leave  this  to  morrow.  *  *  *  *  The  scheme 
has  succeeded,  —  they  've  gone.  In  the  distance  I  hear  them 
scratching  at  Boodels's  door  and  whining.  To  bed.  Happy 
Thought.  —  Turn  the  key  first.  *  *  *  *  Savage  knock  :  Boo- 
dels in  a  rage  :  why  the  deuce  can't  I  keep  the  dogs.  Row : 
I  won't  open  the  door.  Wish  for  the  fifth  time  that  I  could 
think  of  an  answer  to  his  repartee  about  brains  :  it  would 
have  just  come  in  now.  I  shall  certainly  go  to-morrow  : 
Boodels  is  rude. 

Next  Morning.  —  First  post :  two  letters.  In  conse- 
quence of  my  not  deciding  to  take  the  Old  Feudal  Castle 
with  the  shooting,  the  landlord  has  let  it,  and  the  shooting, 
separately,  to  my  friend  Childers  and  a  party.  I  know 
Childers,  but  not  the  party :  will  write  to  him.  A  Feudal 
Castle  must  be  so  calm  and  retired.  And  then  the  moat  and 
the  bastions  !  charming.  The  other  letter  is  from  Mrs. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  65 

Plyte  Fraser.  An  invitation  to  Furze  Lodge.  "  We  shall 
be  so  delighted  to  see  you,  and  I  dare  say  you  will  be  able 
to  pick  up  some  character  here  :  our  neighborhood  abounds 
in  curiosities."  Clever  woman.  After  all,  one  must  have 
female  society.  To  see  much  of  Boodels  and  Milburd, 
Cawker  and  dogs,  has  a  very  deteriorating  effect  on  one's 
mind.  I  '11  accept  Mrs.  Fraser's  note,  at  once  :  in  fact,  tele- 
graph, and  go  to-day. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Tip  the  butler :  he  's  really  been  very 
civil,  so  has  the  footman.  So  has  every  one  :  tip  every  one. 
Difficult  thing  to  do  neatly.  One  ought  to  make  some  pre- 
tence about  it :  say,  for  instance,  to  the  butler,  "  Here 's 
half  a  sovereign  for  you  to  buy  ribbons,"  or  shoes,  or  neck- 
ties, or  something.  I  have  tipped  them,  — awkwardly,  I  'm 
aware :  they  took  it  condescendingly.  Boodels  is  sulky  to- 
day ;  Milburd  looks  in  to  know  about  dragging  the  pond  ; 
Boodels  does  n't  know.  I  should  like  to  try  Sheridan's 
repartee  on  Milburd,  and  see  what  he  says.  The  Fly  has 
come.  Boodels  does  n't  say  he  '11  be  glad  to  see  me  again. 
Milburd  makes  an  ass  of  himself  by  pretending  to  embrace 
me  and  then  cry  bitterly. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Never  ask  a  friend's  opinion  on  one's 
original  MS.  Leads  to  difficulties. 

Happy  Thought  in  Railway  Carriage.  —  I  Ve  thought  of 
the  answer  to  Boodels's  repartee.  When  he  said  that  about 
"  my  not  being  able  to  find  him  in  brains,"  I  ought  to  have 

E 


66  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

said,  "  Brains  !  don't  talk  of  what  you  know  nothing  about." 
That  would  have  done  him  ;  I  wish  I  was  quicker  at  think- 
ing of  these  things.  I  must  practise  repartee. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Having  nothing  to  do  in  the  carriage, 
I  '11  begin  practising  repartee  with  myself,  in  my  note-book. 

Let 's  suppose  cases.  1st  Hypothesis.  Some  one  says 
to  me,  "  What  a  fool  you  are  !  "  Now,  what 's  the  repartee 
for  that  ?  I  don't  know  what  I  should  say  exactly.  There 
must  be  an  answer  to  it  of  some  sort.  To  return  "  Not 
such  a  fool  as  you  are  "  sounds  rather  weak ;  at  least  it 
is  n't  the  brilliant  style  of  repartee  that  I  want  to  have  at 
my  fingers'  ends.  I  '11  try  it  on  somebody  presently,  and 
see  what  he  says.  Better  try  it  on  a  boy ;  some  sharp  lad, 
not  too  big. 

Suppose  another.  2nd  Hypothesis.  Some  one  says  to 
me,  "  Why,  you  've  got  no  more  brains  than  a  cat."  What 
should  I  reply  to  that.  Something  about  "  cat "  :  I  don't 
quite  see  what,  but  that 's  the  line  of  thought  for  the  repar- 
tee to  that.  Odd,  how  slow  I  am  at  this  sort  of  thing :  I 
must  practise. 

Happy  Thought.  —  As  I  can't  see  any  little  boy,  I  '11  try 
"  What  a  fool  you  are ! "  on  some  sharp-looking  railway 
porter,  just  as  we  're  moving  away  from  the  next  station. 
#  *  *  *  NOW  *  *  *  *  I  have  tried  it :  I  thought  we  were 
moving  on,  but  we  were  only  taking  on  fresh  carriages  or 
something,  and  came  back  to  the  same  place.  The  man,  a 
herculean  porter,  was  at  my  window  again  in  a  second,  very 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  67 

angry.  "  If  I  'd  come  out  there  "  (he  meant  on  the  plat- 
form), "  he  'd  show  me  if  he  was  a  fool  or  not."  He  got 
quite  a  crowd  round  the  door.  I  couldn't  give  him  a 
shilling,  because  every  one  was  looking.  The  Station-mastei 
came  up  for  my  name  and  address.  I  tried  to  explain  that 
it  was  merely  a  sort  of  witticism,  but  the  policeman,  with 
the  Station-master,  said  it  was  wilfully  provoking  an  assault 
The  porter  would  n't  take  an  apology.  I  have  left  my  card. 
This  does  n't  help  me  with  repartees :  I  must  think  'em  out 
for  myself. 

London  Terminus.  —  To  another  station  on  my  road  to 
Mrs.  Eraser's.  Repartee  with  cabman  about  fare.  Cabman 
had  the  best  of  it  in  strong  language.  He  finished  up  by 
crying  out,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Call  yourself  a  man  ! 
Why,  I  'm  blanked  if  I  ain't  seen  a  better  man  than  you 
made  out  of  blanky  tea-leaves  ! "  There  was  a  shout  of 
laughter  from  every  one  at  this,  and  he  drove  off  before 
I  could  get  up  a  repartee.  There  must  be  one  to  this.  1 11 
get  a  good  one,  and  be  ready  with  it.  Off  by  train  again. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

FROM"  THE  LONDON  TERMINUS  TO  CHOPFORD  STATION, 
AND  FARTHER  THAN  THAT. 

HOPFORD  is  the  station  for  Furze  Lodge  or 
Cottage,  or  Furze   Heath   Lodge  or   Cottage. 
I  've  lost  the  address,  but  recollect  that  what- 
ever else   it  is  or  is  n't,  it 's  certainly  Furze 
something  or  other. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  buy  a  little  book  for  addresses 
only,  and  keep  it  in  my  pocket.  Or  have  a  pocket  made 
for  it.  That  reminds  me  I  was  going  to  have  a  special 
pocket  made  for  railway  tickets. 

Luggage  to  be  labelled  "  Chopford,"  immediately.  Porter 
says  it  's1  no  good  labelling  it  immediately,  as  the  train 
doesn't  go  for  two  hours.  It  appears  that  only  the  very 
slowest  trains,  which  have  nothing  better  to  do,  stop  at 
Chopford.  But  I  say,  "  There  's  one  at  twelve."  "  Was 
one  at  twelve,"  he  corrects  me,  adding,  that  "if  he'd 
known  as  I  was  going  by  the  Chopford  train  when  I  was 
talking  to  the  cabman,  he  'd  a  told  me  as  there  warn't  time 
to  spare."  It  was  trying  ;  that  confounded  repartee  lost  me 
the  train.  A  policeman  says,  affably,  "  Late,  sir  !  Very 
unfortunate,  sir.  There 's  a  nice  refreshment-room  for 
waitin'  in,  sir,"  and  he  offers  to  conduct  me  thither.  I 
know  what  he  means.  He  wants  a  glass  of  beer.  I  hate 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  69 

such  sycophancy.  I  reply,  sternly,  "  No  !  I  don't  want  the 
infernal  refreshment-room.  I  want  the  train."  A  Hansom 
cabman  (impudent  fellows  those  Hansom  cabmen,  because 
they  're  so  high  up)  says,  jocosely,  "  Have  a  ride,  sir  ?  it  '11 
cool  your  temper."  I  should  like  to  have  had  something 
ready  for  that.  That 's  what  I  want,  —  ready  wit.  I  must 
get  some  ready.  Good  subject,  by  the  way,  for  a  chapter  in 
Typical  Developments,  Book  VI.,  Vol.  III.,  Ch.  10,  Par.  i, 
when  I  come  to  it ;  heading,  "  Ready  Wit  Its  Origin. 
In  Use  among  the  Ancients.  Examples  in  Animal,  Vege- 
table, and  Mineral  Life." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Might  compile  a  small  Handbook  of 
Repartees  for  Travellers.  'T  would  make  a  most  useful 
pocket-companion,  with  marginal  references  to  Typical 
Developments. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Kill  two  books  with  one  pen. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  '11  have  plenty  of  marginal  refer- 
ences in  my  book.  I  like  them.  I  '11  arrange  this  Hand- 
book of  Repartees  alphabetically.  Thus,  A  :  What  comes 
under  A  ?  Armorer.  Well,  there  you  are,  repartee  for  an 
armorer.  Also  (so  as  to  be  quite  fair),  repartee  to  be  said 
to  an  armorer.  B.  What  's  B  ?  Baker.  Butcher.  Repar- 
tee for  baker  or  to  baker  ;  ditto  for  butcher  or  to  butcher. 
C  stands  for  cook.  Capital  little  manual  for  cooks  and 
housekeepers  in  conversation  with  tradesmen.  There  might 
be  permutations  and  combinations  with  bakers  and  butchers 
and  cooks.  This  opens  up  a  large  subject.  Will  try  a  little 


70  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

book  specially  for  notes  on  repartees,  to  put  in  my  pocket 
Might  have  a  pocket  made  on  purpose  for  it :  also  for  rail- 
way tickets  and  addresses. 

Nearly  two  hours  to  wait  at  the  Terminus.  My  life 
seems-  to  be  cast  among  railway  officials.  Dull  work  wait- 
ing :  no  man  with  a  note-book  can  be  dull :  I  am,  though. 
I  might  as  well  have  remained  at  Boodels  as  waste  my  time 
here.  Perhaps  if  I  had  stopped  he  'd  have  dragged  the 
pond.  On  second  thoughts,  it  was  better  to  come  away 
when  I  did.  Never  stop  too  long  at  a  friend's,  or  they  won't 
regret  your  leaving.  I  dare  say  Boodels  misses  me.  Don't 
know,  though  ;  dare  say  he  does  n't.  I  think  he  'd  miss 
me  if  it  was  n't  for  Milburd :  Milbui-d  's  an  ass.  Time 
goes  very  slowly  at  a  station. 

Happy  Thought  on  seeing  the  Book-stall.  —  One  can  pick 
up  a  great  deal  of  knowledge  from  desultory  reading.  Take 
out  the  last  new  books  as  if  you  were  going  to  buy  them  ; 
read  a  page  here  and  there.  You  can  get  an  idea  of  most 
of  them  in  ten  minutes ;  at  least,  enough  for  ordinary  con- 
versation. For  instance,  when  Mrs.  Fraser,  who  reads 
everything  (well-informed  woman,  Mrs.  Fraser),  says  to  me, 
"  Have  you  read  Felix  Holt?"  I  am  able  to  reply,  "  Well, 
I  've  not  had  time  to  go  right  through  it,"  having,  in  point 
of  fact,  read  not  more  than  three  pages  in  the  first  volume, 
in  consequence  of  the  stall-keeper's  becoming  rather  an- 
noyed at  my  taking  down  ten  books  one  after  another  with- 
out buying.  I  sha'  n't  tell  Mrs.  Fraser  this.  Some  one 
at  dinner  will  suppose  that  "  Of  course,  you  've  read  Sir 
Samuel  Baker's  book,"  and  I  am  enabled  to  reply,  "  Well, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  71 

urn.  not  all  of  it,"  as  if  I  'd  only  got  one  chapter  more  to 
finish.  This  is  an  age  of  cheap  literature.  Mine  is,  per- 
haps, the  cheapest  form  of  acquiring  superficial  knowledge. 
Happy  Thought.  —  Go  and  see  a  train  off.  They  won't  let 
me  on  to  the  platform  without  a  ticket.  *  *  *  *  Been  doing 
nothing  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour.  Happy  Thought. 
—  Go  and  see  a  train  come  in  :  might  pick  up  character. 
Can't :  too  much  noise.  Back  to  book-stall.  Man  objects 
to  my  taking  any  more  volumes  down,  and  suggests  his 
terms  of  subscription.  I  have  not  pacified  him  by  the  pur- 
chase of  a  penny  paper.  Dull  work  even  with  a  note-book. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  don't  know  much  about  locomotives. 
Will  go  and  talk  to  a  stoker.  I  walk  up  (having  eluded  the 
official,  at  the  wicket,  on  the  pretence  of  seeing  a  friend  off 
by  this  train)  to  an  engine.  On  it  are  two  dirty  men  :  I 
don't  know  which  is  the  stoker.  Say,  the  dirtier.  Happy 
Thought.  —  To  open  the  conversation  by  making  some 
remark  about  steam.  I  say  to  him,  "  It's  a  wonderful  in- 
vention." One  grins  at  me,  and  the  other  winks,  knowingly. 
Odd,  this  levity  in  stokers  ;  that  is,  if  they  're  both  stokers. 
Whistle  —  shriek:  they  are  off.  The  train  passes  me.  I 
feel  inclined  to  wave  my  hand  to  the  passengers.  A  funny 
man  in  the  second-class  nods  familiarly  to  me  and  says, 
"  How's  the  Missus,  and  the  shop,  eh  ?"  Guards  on  plat- 
form laugh  :  I  've  nothing  to  say.  A  repartee  ought  to 
have  flashed  out  of  my  mouth,  like  an  electric  spark  ;  but 
it  did  n't.  Gone  —  I  am  lonely  again.  The  Guards  are 
telling  other  Guards  what  the  second-class  man  said  to 
me  :  they  enjoy  it  —  I  don't.  Wish  I  was  at  Boodels.  *  *  *  *. 


72  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Been  doing  nothing  for  another  quarter  of  an  hour.  Other 
trains  starting  and  arriving.  Happy  Thought.  — Take  some 
luncheon.  Inspecting  the  refreshment  counter  I  note  pork- 
pies  whole,  pork-pies  in  halves,  flies,  pork-pies  in  quarters, 
with  parsley,  Bath  buns,  plain  buns,  more  flies,  ham  sand- 
wiches, two  blue-bottles,  acidulated  drops  (what  sort  of 
passengers  refresh  themselves  with  acidulated  drops  ?),  cuts 
of  chickens  and  sprigs  of  parsley,  flies,  salad  in  little  plates, 
pickled  something  in  the  fish  line,  cakes  with  currants, 
crowds  of  flies.  Indecision.  *  *  *  *  Wasted  another  quarter 
of  an  hour.  Young  women  behind  the  counter  sewing,  and 
stopping  to  giggle.  More  indecision.  Happy  Thought.  — 
Ask  for  Abernethy  biscuit :  this  leads  to  a  request  for 
ginger-beer. 

Both  together  lead  me  to  wish  that  I  had  n't  asked  for 
either.  I  should  think  they  keep  their  ginger-beer  near  an 
oven.  *  *  *  *  Another  quarter  of  an  hour  gone.  I  wish  I  ;d 
stopped  at  Boodels.  At  all  events,  being  here  insures  me 
against  all  hurry  and  bustle  when  my  train  does  start.  It 
suddenly  occurs  to  me  that  I  've  never  been  inside  St.  Paul's 
or  Westminster  Abbey.  There  's  another  three  quarters  of 
an  hour  good.  Which  shall  I  go  to  ?  One  ought  to  see 
these  things.  *  *  *  *  P'r'aps  I  'd  better  leave  it  for  another 
day.  Indecision.  The  comfort  is,  that  here  I  am  in  plenty 
of  time  for  my  Chopford  train.  *  *  *  *  Another  quarter  of  an 
hour  gone.  Horrid  ginger-beer  that  was.  *  *  *  *  I  suddenly 
find  that  it 's  just  ten  minutes  to  two,  when  my  Chopford 
train  starts.  Hurry.  Get  my  luggage.  As  much  rushing 
about  as  if  I  'd  only  just  arrived,  and  was  late.  Porter 
fetches  somebody  else's  luggage  out  of  the  Parcels'  Room. 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  73 

Rush  to  the  train.  In  the  carriage  with  five  other  people 
Guard  looks  in.  "  All  here  for  Pennington  and  Tutcombe  ?  " 
Happy  Thought.  —  To  correct  him,  rather  funnily,  by  say- 
ing, "  I  am  '  all  here  '  for  Chopford."  His  reply  is  startling, 
— "  The  Chopford  train 's  on  the  other  side."  I  am  conscious 
of  not  coming  out  of  the  carriage  well.  I  wish  I  had  n't 
been  funny  at  first ;  or  wish  I  could  have  kept  it  up  when 
getting  out,  so  that  the  people  might  miss  me  when  I  'd 
gone  !  One  ought  to  have  good  things  ready  for  these 
occasions.  Must  get  some  up. 

At  last  fairly  off  for  Chopford.  After  all  it 's  just  as  well 
I  did  n't  sleep  at  Boodels.  Horrid  ginger-beer  that  was. 
Boodels  used  to  give  us  capital  luncheons.  I  rather  en- 
joyed myself  at  Boodels.  It 's  impossible  to  make  notes 
in  a  train.  On  referring  to  some  I  made  the  other  day,  all 
the  letters  appear  to  be  "  w  "  's  and  "  y  "  's  straggling  about. 
I  '11  get  my  MSS.  out  of  my  desk  and  look  over  them. 
"  Man  at  once  possible  and  impossible,"  Vol.  I.,  Book  I., 
Section  i,  Ch.  i,  Paragraph  No.  2.  *  *  *  *  I  'm  tired :  never 
can  sleep  in  a  train.  *  *  *  *  Am  awoke  by  somebody  getting 
in.  He  begs  pardon  for  disturbing  me.  I  say,  "  O,  not  at 
all."  Shriek  —  whistle:  on  we  go.  "Beautiful  country, 
this,"  observes  my  companion :  I  assent.  Happy  Thought. 
—  Ask  where  we  are.  He  replies,  "  This  is  all  the  Chop- 
ford  country."  Lucky  I  awoke.  "  The  next  station  is 
Chopford  ? ''  I  inquire.  "  O  no,"  he  answers,  "  where  we 
stopped  just  now.  I  got  in  at  Chopford." 

Confound  it,  I  wished  to  goodness  I  'd  stopped  at  Boo- 
dels. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SLUMBOROUGH  FOR  CHOPFORD.  —  RAILWAY  SUGGESTIONS. 
—  OFFICIALS.  —  CARRIAGE  FOR  FURZE  LODGE.  —  A  LIVE 
DUKE. 

Y  lot,  as  I  have  before  remarked,  seems  to  be 
cast  among  railway  officials.     I  am  obliged  to 
get  out  at  Slumborough,  and  I  have  to  go  back" 
to    Chopford,   which   we   passed    while    I   was 
asleep. 

Memorandum  for  suggestion  to  Railway  Authorities. — 
At  any  station,  if  the  guards  see  a  passenger  asleep,  they 
ought  to  wake  him.  Or  there  might  be  —  a  very  Happy 
Thought  this  —  there  might  be  a  set  of  officials,  called 
Shakers,  attached  to  every  train,  whose  duty,  whenever  it 
stopped,  should  be  to  go  into  all  the  carriages,  shake  any 
one  they  might  find  asleep,  and  ask  him  where  he's  going. 

Happy  and  Poetical  Thoiight.  —  Female  shakers  might 
wake  the  gentlemen,  and  win  gloves.  No  shaker  to  be 
eligible  over  six-and-twenty. 

It's  an  out-of-the-way  place,  is  Slumborough  station. 
No  one  to  talk  to.  Let  me  observe.  There  's  a  porter, 
who  is  always  whistling  ;  an  impulsive  Station-master,  who 
won't  be  stopped  to  be  spoken  to,  he  's  so  busy  ;  a  potato- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  75 

garden,  a  small  neat  cottage,  three  broken,  helpless-looking 
trucks,  the  commencement  of  an  unfinished  line,  with  the 
ends  of  its  rails  turning  upwards  towards  the  sky,  as  if 
that  had  been  their  destination.  I  may  note  down  as  a 

Happy  Thought.  —  That  this  is  a  sort  of  Tower  of  Babel 
line.  When  this  idea  comes  to  be  developed,  Vol.  IV., 
Book  VIII.,  Chap,  r,  Typical  Developments,  it  will  be  very 
poetical.  Odd,  how  full  of  poetry  I  am  to-day.  This  is  the 
second  poetical  thought  I  've  had  within  the  last  half-hour. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  the  porter,  in  order  to  get  at 
statistics,  "How  many  trains  pass  here  in  a  day?"  He 
stops  his  whistle,  about  four  bars  from  the  end  of  the  tune, 
I  should  say,  and  answers,  "  If  you  look  at  the  time-table, 
it 's  all  up  there,"  and  then  he  starts  a  fresh  tune.  An  ex- 
press passes,  and  I  wonder  if  there  's  any  one  I  know  in  it. 
The  porter  takes  another  turn  at  the  truck,  and  then  strolls 
into  the  potato-garden,  and  kicks  the  potatoes.  P'r'aps  this 
is  the  process  of  gardening  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
("  Agriculture,"  Typical  Developments,  Vol.  III.,  Book  VI.) 
I  should  like  to  talk  to  the  Station-master.  I  go  inside. 
Office  shut  up.  Behind  the  partition  I  hear  the  scratching 
of  a  pen  and  rustling  of  paper.  He  is  then,  probably,  hard 
at  work.  While  I  am  thinking  this,  the  door  in  the  par- 
tition opens,  and  he  comes  out  briskly.  I  say  to  him, 
"  Can  you  tell  me  —  '  He  replies,  impulsively,  "  Yes, 
there  's  the  time-table,"  and  goes  out  on  the  platform.  In 
a  minute  he  is  back  again,  as  brisk  as  ever.  I  address  him, 


76  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

"  Will  the  train  — "  He  replies,  with  his  hand  on  the 
brass  knob  of  his  door,  "  Office  open  five  minutes  before 
train  comes,"  and  disappears.  More  scratching  of  pen  and 
rustling  of  paper  within.  There  is  a  large  clock  with  an 
impressive  tick.  I  compare  my  watch  with  it,  and,  though 
I  arrive  at  no  conclusion  on  the  subject,  feel  satisfied  at 
having  done  something. 

In  the  Waiting-Room.  —  Dreary.  Wonder  if  Boodels's 
butler  packed  up  my  sponge  ?  Hate  uncertainty  in  these 
matters,  but  don't  like  to  unpack  in  the  station.  I  '11  go 
into  the  office,  and  see  if  my  portmanteau  is  there.  No. 
Where  ?  Of  course  taken  out  at  Chopford.  I  shall  see  it 
there,  at  least  I  hope  so.  The  pigeon-hole  suddenly  opens, 
and  the  Station-master  appears.  Now  's  the  time  for  con- 
versation, and  picking  up  character  and  materials.  I  have 
several  questions  to  ask  him.  I  say,  "  I  want  to  know  first 
—  "  He  catches  me  up  impulsively,  "  First,  where  for?  " 
"  Chopford,"  I  answer,  and  before  I  can  explain  the  acci- 
dent which  has  brought  me  to  Slumborough,  he  has  dashed 
at  a  blue  ticket,  thumped  it  in  one  machine,  banged  it  in 
another,  and  has  produced  it  cut,  printed,  double-stamped, 
and  all  complete  for  authorizing  me  to  go  to  Chopford. 
"  One  and  a  penny,"  says  he.  I  explain  that  "  I  don't  want 
it,  because  —  "  He  listens  to  nothing  more,  but  sits  down 
at  his  desk,  pounces  upon  a  large  book,  which  he  opens 
and  shoves  aside,  then  seizes  a  pen,  and  begins  adding  up 
something  on  one  sheet  of  paper  and  putting  down  the 
result  on  another.  While  he  is  engaged  in  this,  I  see 
the  telegraphic  needles  working.  He  is  too  absorbed  to 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  77 

no'ice  it.  'T  will  be  only  kindness  on  my  part  to  direct  his 
attention  to  it.  I  say,  "  Do  you  know,  sir,  —  "  He  is  up 
in  an  instant,  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear.  He  evidently 
does  n't  recognize  me.  "  Eh,  First  ?  where  for  ?  "  I  can't 
help  saying,  "  Yes,  Chopford  ;  but  —  "  when  he  dashes  as 
before  at  the  stamping-machines,  and  produces,  like  a  con- 
juring trick,  another  ticket  for  Chopford.  That 's  two  tick- 
ets for  Chopford,  and  a  third  I  've  got  in  my  pocket.  I  tell 
him  I  don't  want  it,  and  am  adding,  "  I  don't  know  if  you 
observed  the  telegraph-needles  — "  when  he  sits  down, 
evidently  in  a  temper,  growling  something  about,  "if  you 
want  to  play  the  fool,  go  somewhere  else."  I  'd  say  some- 
thing sharp  if  he  was  n't  at  work,  but  I  never  like  disturb- 
ing a  man  at  work.  Stop,  I  might  ask  him,  it  would  n't 
take  a  second,  how  far  it  is  from  Chopford  to  Furze.  I 
approach  the  pigeon-hole  ;  I  say,  mildly,  "If  you  would 
oblige  me,  sir,  for  one  second  —  "  He  is  up  again  more 
impulsively  than  ever.  "  One,  Second.  Thought  you  said 
•'One  First,"  and  before  I  can  point  out  his  mistake  he  has 
banged,  thumped,  and  produced  for  the  third  time  a  ticket 
to  Chopford,  only  now  he  says,  "  Tenpence,"  that  being  the 
reduction  on  Second  class.  I  am  really  afraid  of  making 
him  very  violent,  so  I  buy  the  ticket.  What  a  sad  thing  to 
have  such  a  temper,  and  be  a  station-master"! 

The  Train  arrives.  —  Hurrah  !  For  Chopford  at  last 
Now  do  the  Frasers  live  at  Furze  Lodge  or  Cottage  ? 

Chopford  Station.  —  Get  out.  Official  receives  my  ticket. 
Very  nearly  getting  into  a  difficulty  with  him,  as  I  have  ten- 
dered my  Second-class  ticket  from  Slumborough  to  Chop- 


78  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

ford,  and  he  saw  me  get  out  of  the  First-class  carriage.  *  *  *  * 
What  an  agony  it  puts  one  in  not  to  be  able  to  find  the 
proper  ticket.  *  *  *  *  Right  at  last.  I  've  often  said  I  must 
have  a  regular  pocket  made  for  tickets,  and  so  I  must. 
Luggage  here.  No  name  on  it,  but  labelled  Chopford.  I 
am  going  to  Furze  Lodge,  I  tell  him:  because  if  it  isn't 
Furze  Lodge  and  is  Furze  Cottage  he  '11  correct  me.  The 
official  is  most  civil.  "  Furze  Lodge,  O,  of  course."  The 
Frasers  are  evidently  well  known,  and  highly  respected. 
"  The  carriage  for  Furze  Lodge  is  waiting,  sir,  to  take  you. 
Here  's  the  footman."  He  takes  me  up  to  a  tall  menial  in  a 
handsome  livery  and  a  cockade.  (I  note  that  the  Frasers 
are  going  it.)  The  menial  touches  his  hat,  on  the  Station- 
master  introducing  me  politely  as  "  the  gentleman  for  Furze." 
A  porter  puts  my  luggage  into  the  carriage,  and  I  put  my- 
self in  after  it.  The  coachman  touches  his  hat  on  seeing 
me,  the  footman  bangs  the  door,  the  Station-master  salutes 
me,  the  porter  interests  himself  in  my  welfare  to  inquire  if 
I  've  got  everything,  which  simply  means  sixpence  for  him- 
self. (Note  for  travelling.  Always  carry  threepenny  bits.) 

My  spirits  rise.  Such  a  carriage !  Damask  lining : 
softest  cushions.  I  suppose  Fraser  is  a  Deputy-Lieutenant 
or  something,  or  else  why  should  the  servants  wear  cock- 
ades ?  It  cant  be  to  impose  upon  the  country  people. 
No,  Fraser 's  above  that.  He  is  not  a  snob. 

We  enter  Furze  gates.  Pretty  little  lodge  at  the  gate. 
Old  woman  comes  out  and  bobs  a  courtesy  to  me.  Nice  old 
woman.  I  bow  to  her  and  smile.  For  a  moment  I  imagine 
myself  the  Prince  of  Wales.  It  must  be  very  tiring  to  go 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  79 

on  bowing  and  smiling :  but  gratifying.     Deer  in  the  park 
Old  timber. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  must  get  up  my  sketching  again, 
and  practise  trees.  Splendid  oaks.  Chestnuts.  Cows. 
Two  laborers  :  or  peasants.  What 's  the  difference  be- 
tween laborer  and  peasant  ?  One 's  real,  and  the  other 
poetical.  (Query  this  in  Vol.  IV.,  Typical  Developments!) 
They  touch  their  hats  respectfully  to  me.  I  return,  gra- 
ciously. Feel  like  George  the  Fourth  in  that  picture  of 
him  on  the  sofa.  More  gates.  What  a  delicious  place 
Fraser  has  !  Knowing  him  and  his  wife  only  in  town,  where 
they  take  lodgings  for  a  month  in  the  season,  I  had  no  idea 
he  was  so  wealthy.  (N.  B.  Never  judge  a  man  by  his 
merely  taking  lodgings  in  London  for  the  season.) 

An  artistically  planted  flower-garden.  A  lawn,  like  a  soft 
green  carpet  without  a  wrinkle  in  it,  laid  out  for  Croquet 
exclusively.  On  it  is  a  Croquet  party.  They  are  in  fancy 
costumes ;  from  which  I  gather  it  is  a  Croquet  Club. 
Charming !  I  shall  enjoy  this.  Mrs.  Plyte  Fraser,  too,  is 
such  a  nice  person.  All  clever  people  here,  I  '11  be  bound, 
or  they  would  n't  do  this  sort  of  thing ;  because  there  is 
originality  about  it.  Delightful ;  simply  delightful !  I  think 
I  see  Fraser  and  Mrs.  Fraser  among  the  party.  I  wave  my 
hand.  I  feel  exhilarated.  I  shout,  "  How  are  you  ?  how  are 
you  ? "  Meaning  Fraser,  who  of  course  can't  answer  at  that 
distance,  but  will  take  the  inquiry  for  what  it 's  meant  I 
like  being  hearty  with  people. 

Here  we  are  at  the  door  of  Furze  Lodge.    A  gray-headed 


8o  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

butler  descends,  solemnly ;  he  is  like  a  clergyman,  indeed, 
for  the  matter  of  that,  an  archbishop.  Livery  opens  the 
carriage  door.  The  archbishop  stands  on  the  steps  as  if 
about  to  impart  a  benediction.  I  should  like  to  kneel  to 
him.  - 

Happy  Thought. —  If  I  do  get  up  my  sketching,  I  '11  draw 
a  picture  of  Hospitality  in  the  Olden  Time.  Arrival  of 
Pilgrims  at  the  Archbishop's. 

More  livery  servants.  Fraser  must  be  very  rich.  (I  have 
time  to  make  a  note  or  two  while  they  are  engaged  with  my 
luggage.)  The  butler  tells  the  servants  "  The  Blue  Room," 
and  I  think  of  Fatima  and  Baron  Abomelique.  (N.  B. 
Another  subject  for  a  sketch.)  I  see  my  packages  being 
carried  up  the  grand  old  oaken  staircase  adorned  with  por- 
traits of  Eraser's  ancestors,  all  with  very  white  hands  and 
pointed  finger-tips.  This  is  just  the  place  I  like.  Beauti- 
ful!!!  I  address  the  butler  for  the  first  time,  having  given 
my  hat,  coat,  and  umbrella  to  a  livery,  who  has  disappeared 
with  them.  In  an  off-hand  manner,  in  order  to  show  that 
I  am  accustomed  to  all  this  grandeur,  and  am  quite  one 
of  the  family,  I  ask  him,  "  Are  they  in  ? "  He  replies, 
benignly,  "  I  was  to  show  you  to  the  study,  sir,  directly 
you  came."  I  answer,  "  O,  very  well,"  and  then  inquire, 
also  in  an  off-hand  manner,  "  Who  's  in  the  Croquet 
ground  ?  "  The  butler  calmly  replies,  "  There  's  Lord 
Adolphus,  sir,  and  Lady  Adela,  they  only  came  down  this 
morning  ;  there  's  Mr.  Aylmer,  Captain  Doodley,  Miss  As- 
cutt,  Colonel  Lyne,  Lady  Tulkorne  and  Miss  Graeme,  and 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  8l 

the  family,  sir.  His  Grace  has  n't  been  able  to  go  out,  sir, 
for  three  days."  I  had  no  idea  the  Erasers  did  this  sort  of 
thing.  What  a  letter  I  shall  write  to  old  Boodels  about  the 
place  !  He  '11  be  precious  glad  to  get  me  back  again  to 
Boodels,  thinking  I  '11  introduce  him  to  the  Frasers.  But 
I  won't  ;  or  perhaps  I  will,  and  astonish  him.  That  vulgar 
fellow  Milburd  would  n't  get  on  here.  I  note  this  while  in 
a  library,  where  the  butler  has  left  me,  while  he  prepares  his 
master  for  my  coming.  From  what  the  butler  says  I  fancy 
poor  Fraser  has  got  the  gout.  "  The  gout,"  the  reverend 
domestic  has  casually  observed,  "  does  make  an  invalid  very 
irritable."  He  returns  and  motions  me  towards  a  door  art- 
fully concealed  from  view  by  sham  book-shelves.  I  enter, 
prepared  to  say,  "  Well,  old  boy,  I  'm  sorry  to  see  you  like 
this,"  when  the  butler  announces  me  softly,  so  softly  that  I 
cannot  hear  what  he  says,  to  the  invalid,  who  is  in  a  large 
comfortable  chair,  swathed  in  flannels.  The  room  is  par- 
tially darkened,  and  I  see  that  noisy  heartiness  is  out  of  the 
question. 

I  go  up  to  him.  "  Well,  Doctor,"  says  he,  groaningly, 
"  glad  you  've  come."  Fancy  of  his  to  call  me  doctor,  I 
suppose.  What  a  change  :  Fraser's  voice  is  quite  altered. 
Happy  Thought.— To  reply,  "Well,  I  hope  I  shall  be  a 
good  doctor  to  you,  old  fellow.  Cheer  you  up  a  bit." 

He  turns  round  sharply  and  almost  fiercely.  "  Who  the 
j>»  *  *  *  * 

It  is  n't  Fraser  ;  and  I  've  never  seen  his  face  before  in 

my  life. 

***** 


82  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

I  have  been  shown  out.  There  is  a  very  simple  explana- 
tion, and  this  is  it.  The  Erasers  live  at  Furze  Cottage,  but 
at  Furze  Lodge  resides  his  Grace  the  Duke  of  Slumbor- 
ough,  who  is  now  suffering  from  a  complicated  gout,  and  to 
whom  I  have  just  been  presented.  *  *  *  * 

His  Grace,  being  irritable,  won't  listen  to  apologies.  The 
butler,  who  is  the  major  domo  of  the  establishment,  receives 
his  dismissal  on  the  spot.  *  *  *  *  I  don't  exactly  know 
what  to  do.  The  butler  is  still  in  the  study  with  his  Grace, 
and  I  am  in  the  library.  As  all  the  doors,  I  now  observe, 
are  concealed  by  sham  book-shelves,  the  general  effect  is 
that  there  are  no  doors  at  all.  When  I  do  get  out,  how 
shall  I  obtain  my  luggage  from  the  Blue  Room  ?  How  can 
I  face  the  butler  ?  No  more  Archbishop's  benediction. 
Subject  for  sketch,  Archbishop  Cursing  Pilgrims :  compan- 
ion picture  to  the  other.  Very  uncomfortable.  How  can  I 
defend  my  presence  in  the  library  to  the  Duchess  if  she 
comes  ?  Dreadful !  I  must  (as  I  have  said  often  before) 
get  an  address  book,  and  write  them  all  down.  When  I 
get  out  of  this  infernal  hole  I  will.  I  thought  the  Frasers 
could  n't  live  here.  *  *  *  * 

Happy  Thought.  —  Out  at  last.  Son  of  the  family  found 
me.  Introduces  himself ;  Lord  Heath.  Has  heard  of  the 
mistake.  My  luggage  is  all  down  and  put  into  pony  chaise. 
Will  I  take  anything  before  I  go  ?  Mr.  Fraser's  cottage  is 
not  far  from  here,  he  says,  a  pretty  place.  In  fact,  it  is  on 
his  father's  estate.  His  father,  the  Duke,  has  been  ill  for 
some  time  ;  it  makes  him  very  irritable.  Yes.  Hope  I  '11 
enjoy  myself  at  Furze  Cottage.  Good  by.  I  am  driven  off 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  83 

by  a  groom  in  a  small  pony  carriage,  which  is  just  large 
enough  to  hold  us  and  my  luggage.  I  am  conscious  of  the 
eyes  of  the  Croquet  party.  I  don't  wave  my  hand  this 
time.  The  pony  is  very  slow.  Lord  Heath  has  joined  his 
friends.  I  hear  them  laughing.  I  feel  savage  with  the  aris- 
tocracy generally.  I  could  be  a  Democrat,  if  it  was  n't  for 
the  groom  by  my  side,  who  is  inclined  to  treat  me  flippantly. 
Silence  and  Thought.  We  drive  out  of  the  Lodge  Gate. 
The  old  woman  does  n't  courtesy.  Sycophant ! 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

NOTES     WRITTEN     DOWN     SOON     AFTER     MY    ARRIVAL    AT 

FRASER'S. —  i  MEET  SOME  YOUNG  LADIES.  —  CROQUET. 

—  CHILDREN. 

HE  groom  who  took  me  in  the  pony  carriage 
was  not  quite  certain  which  was  Furze  Cottage. 
After  going  up  a  considerable  hill,  we  came  to  a 
door  which  seemed  to  appear  suddenly  out  of  a 
plantation.  There  was  nothing  outside  to  indicate  that  it 
belonged  to  the  Erasers  or  anybody  else.  Here  I  find  notes 
made  on  the  spot. 

Pretty  place,  if  Eraser's  or  any  one's.  Honeysuckles, 
creepers,  and  crawlers  all  over  the  wall. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Must  learn  the  names  of  plants. 
Typical  Developments,  Vol.  VII.,  to  be  entirely  devoted 
to  Floriculture. 

See  a  small  window  :  a  child  appears  at  it.  I  call  out  to 
him,  is  this  Mr.  Eraser's  ?  Whereupon  he  makes  faces  at 
me.  Little  idiot.  I  repeat  my  question,  and  he  repeats  his 
faces.  I  threaten  him,  when  he  suddenly  disappears,  having, 
as  I  hope,  tumbled  off  a  chair.  If  this  is  the  Frasers',  they 
have  children,  or,  at  all  events,  one  child,  who  makes  faces 
at  visitors.  I  don't  like  this. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  85 

Why  the  groom,  on  seeing  the  child,  should  say,  "  O 
yes,  this  is  Furze  Cottage,"  I  don't  kno\v  :  on  looking  again 
at  the  window  I  catch  sight  of  a  comely  nursery-maid,  and 
from  certain  indications  on  her  countenance  I  am  inclined 
to  think  that  the  groom  is  upon,  at  all  events,  winking  terms 
with  the  domestic.  The  groom  gets  out  to  ring  the  bell 
while  I  hold  the  reins.  I  am  glad  when  he  has  rung,  and  is 
at  the  pony's  head. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Must  practise  my  driving. 

A  youngish  butler  opens  the  door,  he  lacks  the  stateliness 
of  the  archbishop  at  Furze  Lodge,  but  he  is  dapper  and 
genial ;  and  a  butler  should  be  genial.  Wishing  to  do 
things  well  for  the  sake  of  the  Frasers,  and  with  a  view  to 
reading  the  Duke's  groom  the  useful  lesson  that  a  menial 
must  n't  despise  any  one  who  may  happen  to  be  shown  out 
of  a  nobleman's  house,  I  give  him  half  a  crown.  I  watch 
the  effect  upon  him.  None,  visibly.  Turning  suddenly,  a 
few  seconds  afterwards,  I  am  confident  I  saw  him  with  the 
half-crown  in  his  right  eye,  pretending  to  ogle  the  nursery- 
maid at  the  window.  Analyzing  this  act  subsequently, 
(with  a  view  to  materials  for  chapter  on  "  Human  Nature,") 
I  find  in  it  ingratitude,  immorality,  and  tomfoolery.  [Query. 
Why  70/«-foolery  ?  Why  not  Henry-foolery  or  John-fool- 
ery? Must  think  over  this,  and  startle  the  world  when 
I  've  found  it  out.] 

Happy  Thought.  —  That  groom 's  a  Lothario.  Who  was 
Lothario  ?  Useful  thing  to  get  a  history  of  him.  Every- 


86  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

body  is  hearty  at  Eraser's.  The  butler  and  the  footman  are 
hearty.  They  get  out  my  luggage  heartily.  They  hang  up 
my  hat,  on  a  peg  in  the  hall,  heartily.  The  butler,  putting 
down  my  hat-box,  "  thinks  that  that  's  all,"  heartily.  The 
footman  thinks  yes,  that  that  is  all,  very  heartily.  They 
smile  at  one  another  and  breathe,  heartily.  I  begin  to  feel 
hearty  myself.  The  load  of  the  aristocracy  is  off  me,  now 
that  the  Duke's  groom  (much  worse  than  the  Duke  himself 
as  oppressing  me,  until  I  saw  him  with  my  coin  in  his  right 
eye)  is  gone.  I  notice  that  there  are  about  ten  pairs  of 
little  shoes,  and  hoops,  and  hoopsticks  in  the  hall.  The 
Frasers  have  evidently  a  large  family.  Did  n't  know  this 
before.  Mrs.  Plyte  Fraser  comes  in  from  the  garden.  She 
talks  in  italics,  most  heartily.  "  So  glad  to  see  me  :  so  de- 
lighted :  so  sorry  if  I  hadn't  come  :  should  never  have  for- 
given me  :  never.  You  '11  have  a  cup  of  tea  ?  We  're  just 
come  in  to  have  tea  :  and  a  chat  :  so  long  since  we  've  had 
a  chat."  Mrs.  Fraser  then  gives  some  directions  about 
Master  Adolphus  coming  down  to  dinner,  and  the  others  to 
dessert.  Very  large  family,  I  'm  afraid.  Asking  for  Fraser, 
I  am  told  he  is  arranging  a  bin.  I  like  Mrs.  Plyte  Fraser. 
She  is  thoroughly  appreciative.  She  is  fond  of  literature, 
specially  of  the  higher  walks  in  which  I  am  engaged,  and  she 
interests  herself  in  what  interests  me.  I  shall  get  her  to  give 
me  an  opinion  on  the  first  Chapter  of  Typical  Developments. 
A  clever  woman's  opinion  is  worth  a  great  deal ;  and  then, 
of  course,  she  represents  a  class.  Now  my  mistake  in  ap- 
pealing at  all  to  Boodels  was,  that  he  didn't  represent  any- 
body. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  87 

Odd  question  for  Mrs.  Fraser  to  put  to  me,  almost  directly 
we  are  in  the  drawing-room,  "  So  you  're  not  married  yet  ?" 
I  laugh,  and  reply,  "  No,  I  'm  not  married  yet,"  having,  in 
fact,  no  other  answer  ready.  She  returns,  knowingly, 
"  Well,  we  '11  see  what  we  can  do  for  you."  I  smile,  but  I 
don't  quite  like  this  style  of  conversation.  Analyzing  it, 
subsequently,  for  materials  for  chapter  on  "  Human  Na- 
ture," I  find  in  it  frivolity  and  curiosity.  I  take  this  oppor- 
tunity, while  we  are  sipping  our  tea,  of  informing  Mrs.  Fraser 
how  hard  at  work  I  am  on  Typical  Developments.  She 
says,  "  O,  she  should  like  to  see  it  so  much  !  I  must  read  it 
to  her  "  ;  and  adds  slyly,  "  I  'm  sure  it 's  romantic  ;  I  do 
like  anything  really  romantic." 

She  is  so  enthusiastic  on  the  subject  that  I  don't  feel 
inclined  to  explain  that  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  romance, 
but  say  dubiously,  as  if  I  had  n't  quite  made  up  my  mind 
about  it,  "  Well,  no,  not  perhaps  exactly  romantic,  that  is,  in 
the  sense  you  mean."  She  was  at  me  in  a  moment,  she  is 
so  quick,  "  Romantic  in  another  sense  ?  I  don't  quite  un- 
derstand." Being  unable  to  put  it  in  a  clearer  light,  I  say, 
smiling  mysteriously,  "  You  shall  see,"  which  pacifies  her 
for  the  time. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  '11  throw  in  a  little  romantic  touch 
here  and  there  before  I  read  it  to  her.  Perhaps  it  would 
improve  it :  on  consideration,  I  don't  quite  see  how. 

Here  three  young  ladies  join  us.  The  Misses  Symperson 
and  Miss  Florelly.  I  wish  Mrs.  Fraser  would  n't  introduce 
me  as  "  a  gentleman  of  whose  literary  fame  you  've  often 


88  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

heard,  I  've  no  doubt."  It  is  so  awkward  when  people  don't 
know  anything  about  you.  This  was  the  case  with  the  Sym- 
persons  and  Miss  Florelly  :  rather  stupid  girls,  except  the 
second  Miss  Symperson.  There  's  a  something  about  her 
which  attracts  me.  Why  ?  When  Mrs.  Fraser  makes  the 
introductory  speech  above  recorded,  I  laugh  and  say,  "  O 
no,  no,  no  !  "  as  if  their  ignorance  of  me  was  just  pardonable, 
and  that 's  all. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  must  get  something  published  at 
once,  because,  then,  when  you  are  introduced  as  above,  you 
can  refer  to  some  work  or  other  that  every  one  knows 
something  about.  But  if  you  're  introduced  as  a  gentleman 
of  great  literary  fame,  and  on  being  asked  what  you  've 
written  are  obliged  to  reply  "  nothing,"  it  makes  one  look 
so  foolish.  I  don't  say  "  nothing,"  I  qualify  it ;  I  reply,  "  I 
have  published  nothing,  though  I  have  written  a  great  deal," 
and  then  I  depreciate  publication  as  merely  a  gratification 
of  personal  vanity.  [Happy  Thought.  —  Wonder  if  Mr. 
Bradshaw  is  introduced  as  the  author  of  the  celebrated 
Railway  Guide  ?]  This  was  what  I  said  to  Miss  Harding, 
who  is  another  young  lady  at  the  Erasers',  supposed  to  be 
very  clever  and  very  sharp,  and  asked,  I  find,  on  my  account. 
Miss  Harding  replies,  "  Gratification  of  personal  vanity  ! 
then  Milton,  Ben  Jonson,  Shakespeare,  Bacon,  Chaucer, 
simply  gratified  their  vanity  ?  for  they  all  published.  You 
surely  can't  mean  that  ?  "  I  do  not  mean  that,  or  at  least  I 
did  n't  expect  to  be  taken  up  so  quickly,  and  wish  to  good- 
ness she  would  n't  talk  so  loud,  as  Mrs.  Fraser  and  every 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  89 

one  in  the  room  is  listening.  I  feel  that  I  am  placed  on  my 
mettle  :  by  a  girl  only  eighteen  too  !  I  reply,  "  No,  they 
were  not  vain,  —  and  when  I  said  that  publication  was  a 
gratification  of  vanity,  I  did  not  suppose  for  one  minute  you 
would  understand  it  literally."  Every  one,  I  see,  is  satisfied 
with  this  answer :  she  is  not.  "  If  not  literally,"  she  returns, 
"  how  do  you  mean  it,  —  metaphorically  ?  "  I  reply,  seeing 
that  everybody  is  waiting  for  me  to  crush  her,  "  Well,  you 
see,  you  must  analyze  the  motives  which  prompt  a  man  of 
high  cultivation  and  lofty,  soul-stirring  aspirations  to  —  " 
Here  Plyte  Fraser  himself  comes  in,  from  the  wine-cellar. 
He  dusts  himself,  and  shakes  hands  with  me  apologetically, 
"  Glad  to  see  you  —  don't  let  me  interrupt  you."  I  say, 
••  Xo,  no,  not  at  all."  "  Ah,"  says  he  to  Miss  Harding,  "  you 
get  him  to  sing  to  you  '  The  Little  Pig  jumped  over  the 
Wall?  It 's  capital, — he  does  the  squeak,  and  everything." 
Miss  Harding  raises  her  eyebrows,  and  I  protest  I  don't 
sing  no-«j,  —  that  I 've  given  it  up.  Plyte  Fraser  insists: 
"You'll  give  it  us  this  evening,  —  squeak  and  all,  —  and 
we  '11  have  the  children  down  to  hear  it"  Here  he  slaps 
me  gently  on  the  back.  He 's  stopped  too  long  in  the 
wine-cellar ;  a  little  tasting  is  a  dangerous  thing.  I  must 
take  the  first  opportunity  I  can  of  explaining  to  Fraser  that 
I  am  not  a  buffoon. 

Mrs.  Fraser  and  the  other  ladies  are  in  the  garden.  One 
of  the  boy  Frasers,  nine  years  old,  is  there.  I  don't  know 
how  many  children  they  have  :  on  inspection,  I  don't  think 
this  is  the  one  who  made  faces  at  me  from  the  window. 
We  join  them.  At  any  other  time  I  should  have  disdained 


90  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

croquet,  but  a  man  who  does  the  pig  and  the  squeak  (con- 
found Eraser's  memory  !)  cannot  affect  to  be  above  simple 
lawn  sport  like  croquet.  Miss  Florelly  says  to  me  sweetly 
during  the  game,  "  O,  I  do  hope  you  '11  sing  that  song  about 
the  pig.  Mr.  Fraser  says  you  wrote  it  yourself.  It 's  won- 
derful to  me  how  you  can  think  of  such  clever  things." 
Here  's  a  reputation  :  not  as  the  author  of  Typical  Develop- 
ments, but  the  writer  of  "  The  Little  Pig  jumped"  who 
sings  it,  and  does  the  squeak  himself !  When  shall  I  be 
known  in  my  true  character  ?  When  will  my  lofty  aspira- 
tions be  recognized  ?  I  think  all  this  in  a  corner  of  the 
croquet  ground,  and  I  find  myself  frowning  horribly. 

Here  I  am  called  upon  to  push  a  ball  through  a  hoop  :  I 
fail.  The  boy  Fraser  says,  "  You  can't  play  as  well  as  I 
can,"  and  is  told  not  to  be  rude.  Miss  Harding  not  only 
laughs  at  me,  but  hits  me  (I  mean  my  ball)  to  the  other  end 
of  the  ground.  The  boy  Fraser  then  alters  his  remark, 
"  You  can't  play  as  well  as  Miss  Harding,  you  can't."  I 
say,  with  a  dash  of  sentiment,  wishing  to  be  friends  with 
her,  "  You  've  sent  me  a  long  way  off,  Miss  Harding,"  and 
she  replies,  curtly,  "  Yes,  terrible,  is  n't  it  ? "  The  boy 
Fraser,  whom  I  begin  to  detest,  says,  "  You  can't  run  as 
fast  as  I  can."  I  nod  to  him  pleasantly,  to  propitiate  the 
boy,  but  he  only  asks,  "  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? "  and 
imitates  me.  I  have  to  run  across  the  ground :  I  am  con- 
scious of  not  appearing  to  advantage  when  running.  I 
wish  that  croquet  had  never  been  invented :  I  feel  that  I 
am  scowling  again  :  it  strains  me  to  smile.  Now  at  Boo- 
dels's  one  was  n't  bothered  to  play  at  croquet  with  women 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  91 

and  children.  I  must  explain  to  Mrs.  Fraser  that  I  want 
to  have  as  much  time  as  possible  to  myself  for  writing,  and 
I  can't  be  playing  croquet  all  day.  Fraser  himself  does  n't 
play,  and  I  'm  the  only  man  here.  He  looks  into  the 
ground  for  one  minute,  and  says,  "  Hullo,  getting  on  all 
right  ?"  I  reply,  smilingly,  "  O  yes,  all  right,"  and  he  dis- 
appears into  the  cellar  again,  I  believe,  as  the  next  time  I 
see  him  is  in  the  hall,  with  a  couple  of  cobwebby  bottles  in 
his  hands.  Bell :  thank  heaven  :  dinner-time.  The  worst  of 
being  the  only  man  with  five  ladies  is  that  one  has  to  pick 
up  all  the  croquet-balls,  put  the  mallets  back  in  the  box, 
draw  the  stumps,  and  carry  the  whole  lot  of  things  into  the 
house.  The  boy  Fraser  refuses  to  assist  me,  and  says, 
"  Pick  'em  up  yourself."  Nice  child,  this  !  I  should  like 
to  pinch  him,  or  box  his  ears  ;  but  I  'm  afraid,  he  'd  make 
such  a  noise. 

Happy  Thought  ivhile  dressing  for  Dinner.  —  To  tell 
Fraser  quietly  that  I  don't  care  about  croquet,  and  then 
he  '11  get  me  out  of  it  another  time.  Hope  there  's  not  a 
party  at  dinner.  Hope  he  's  forgotten  all  about  asking  me 
to  sing  "  The  Little  Pig:1  *  *  *  *  Lost  a  stud.  Can't  find  it 
anywhere.  This  is  annoying.  Hate  going  down  hot  and 
uncomfortable  to  dinner.  Ring  bell.  Footman,  after  some 
delay,  answers  it.  He  brings  up  hot  water  (which  I  '\  e  had 
before)  and  announces  that  dinner  will  be  ready  in  five 
minutes.  We  both  look  for  the  stud.  He  thinks  his  mas- 
ter has  a  set,  though  he  don't  generally  wear  'em.  While 
he  is  gone,  I  find  that  the  stud  is  missing  which  fastens  my 


92  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

collar.  Ring  the  bell  again.  This  causes  another  bell  to 
ring.  Hate  giving  trouble  in  a  strange  house.  Little  boy 
Fraser  comes  to  the  door  as  the  butler  enters  with  more 
hot  water.  The  horrid  boy  makes  remarks  on  my  dress. 
I  tell  _the  domestic  my  difficulty.  Master  does  n't  wear 
studs,  it  appears.  The  boy  Fraser  is  overhauling  the 
things  on  my  table.  I  ask  him  to  leave  my  comb  alone, 
and  he  goes  to  the  brushes.  The  footman  (with  more  hot 
water,  not  knowing  the  butler  was  there)  says  the  Maid 
would  pin  it  on,  if  that  would  do  ?  That  must  do.  The 
boy  Fraser  is  putting  hair-oil  on  my  clean  pocket-handker- 
chief. He  thinks  it 's  scent.  Another  minute  and  the 
Maid  appears.  Shall  she  sew  on  a  button  ?  "  Is  there 
time  ? "  I  ask.  "  Well,  she  '11  try,"  she  answers,  and  goes 
for  the  button.  I  implore  the  boy  Fraser,  who  is  now  try- 
ing on  my  boots,  to  go  away.  He  won't.  The  dinner-bell 
rings.  Now  I  'm  keeping  them  waiting.  Boy  Fraser  in- 
forms me  that  he  's  coming  down  to  dessert.  Maid  returns. 
What  a  time  sewing  takes  !  Painful  attitude  it  is  to  stand 
in,  with  your  head  in  the  air,  and  trying  all  the  while  to  see 
what  a  mischievous  child  is  doing  with  your  watch.  Done 
at  last.  White  tie  won't  come  right.  Dash  it,  let  it  come 
wrong.  Rush  down  to  the  drawing-room.  Obliged  to 
leave  horrid  boy  in  my  room.  I  stop  on  the  stairs.  For- 
gotten my  watch.  Run  up  again.  Rescue  it  from  boy,  who 
was  going  to  examine  the  works  with  the  aid  of  my  gold 
pin.  Luckily  one  of  his  nurses  appears.  I  leave  them  to 
fight  it  out,  and  rush  down  stairs  again.  At  drawing-room 
door,  standing  on  mat  to  button  my  waistcoat,  which,  in  my 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  93 

hurry,  I  had  left  undone.    Door  opens.    Every  one  is  com- 
ing out 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  be  careful  to  finish  dressing 
before  one  makes  a  public  appearance.  Apologies  from 
Master  and  Mistress  of  the  house.  Large  party ;  all  paired, 
except  myself  and  a  youth  from  school,  about  fourteen 
years  old,  in  jackets.  I  don't  know  him  at  all,  but  he  wants 
to  be  sportive,  and  says,  "  I  s'pose  you  '11  take  me  in."  I 
snub  him.  I  think  the  servants  are  laughing  at  something 
he  's  doing.  Hate  boys  of  this  age.  It  was  a  smaller  one 
than  this  who  made  faces  at  me  from  the  window. 

Dinner.  —  Seated  :  next  to  the  Lady  of  the  House.  Miss 
Harding  on  the  other  side.  I  mentally  note,  as  not  at  all 
a  happy  thought,  that  if  there 's  anything  to  carve  I  shall 
have  to  do  it.  I  hope  the  old  gentleman  on  the  other  side 
of  Mrs.  Fraser  will  offer  first.  She  introduces  us  across. 
He  is  an  American  general.  On  being  told  by  Mrs.  Fraser 
of  my  literary  fame,  he  only  says,  "  O,  indeed  !  "  and  ap- 
pears surprised.  I  wish  she  would  n't  say  anything  about 
it.  I  have  my  pock.et-book  ready  for  short-hand  notes,  as 
be  '11  be  full  of  information.  Dinner  goes  on. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

DINNER  PARTY  AT  FRASER'S.  —  THE  GENERAL.  —  I  OBLIGE 
THE   COMPANY   WITH   A   SONG. 


T  Dinner.  In  consequence  of  having  to  listen 
to  several  whispered  observations  on  the  com- 
pany present  from  Mrs.  Plyte  Fraser,  who  tells 
me  who  every  one  is,  and  how  clever  they  all 
are,  I  find  myself  left  alone,  eating  fish.  I  make  three  picks 
at  my  fish  and  finish.  The  butler  and  footman  are  both  in 
the  room,  but  neither  will  catch  my  eye,  and  I  can't  get  my 
plate  removed.  The  coachman,  who  comes  in  to  wait 
occasionally,  and  is  very  hot  and  uncomfortable  all  the 
time,  does  catch  my  eye,  and  sees  me  pointing  to  my  plate. 
He  looks  in  a  frightened  manner  at  me,  as  though  begging 
me  not  to  ask  him  to  do  anything  on  his  own  account.  He 
is  evidently  debating  with  himself  whether  he  oughtn't  to 
tell  the  butler  that  I  'm  making  signs.  I  should  say  that 
this  coachman  is  snubbed  by  the  others.  His  rule  for  wait- 
ing appears  to  be,  when  in  doubt  play  the  lobster  sauce ; 
which  he  hands  with  everything. 

Mrs.  Fraser  whispers  to  me  to  draw  the  American  General 
out.  "  He  was  in  the  war,"  she  says,  behind  her  fan.  I  say, 
"O,  indeed  !  "  and  commence  the  process  of  drawing  out 
It 's  a  difficult  art.  The  first  question  is  everything.  I  ask 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  95 

him,  diffidently,  "  How  he  liked  the  war  ?  "  Before  he  can 
reply,  Mrs.  Fraser  informs  the  company,  as  if  she  were 
exhibiting  the  military  hero,  "Ah!  General  Duncammon 
was  in  all  the  great  engagements  —  "  The  General  shuts  his 
eyes  and  nods  towards  a  salt-cellar.  "  He  knew,"  she  con- 
tinues, still  exhibiting  him,  "  all  the  leading  men  there  —  " 
The  General  looks  round  the  table  cautiously,  to  see,  per- 
haps, if  anybody  else  did,  —  "  and  he  was  in  the  very  centre 
of  the  battle,  where  he  received  a  dreadful  sabre  wound, 
at — at  — "  she  looks  for  assistance  to  the  General,  who 
seems  rather  more  staggered  than  he  probably  did  in  the 
battle,  and  Plyte  Fraser,  from  the  top  of  the  table,  supplies, 
"  Bull's  Run."  "  Bull's  Run,"  repeats  Mrs.  Fraser  to  the 
General,  as  if  challenging  him  to  contradict  it  if  he  dares. 
"  General  Duncammon's  property,"  she  goes  on,  still  lec- 
turing on  him  as  a  kind  of  mechanical  wax-work  figure, 
"  was  all  —  all  —  all —  dear  me,  what 's  the  word  I  want  ?  " 
She  turns  to  me  abruptly.  I  don't  know.  The  General 
does  n't  know.  Perhaps  he  never  had  any  property.  Every- 
body being  appealed  to,  separately,  "  has  the  word  on  the 
tip  of  his  tongue  !  "  "You,"  says  Mrs.  Fraser  to  me,  "of 
course  have  quite  a  storehouse  of  words.  I  never  can 
imagine  an  author  without  a  perfect  magazine  of  words.  It 
must  be  so  delightful  always  to  be  able  to  say  what  you 
want,  you  know.  Now  what  is  the  word  I  'm  waiting  for  ? 
You  know  when  a  man  has  all  his  property  taken  by  Gov- 
ernment —  taken  away  —  not  '  compromised '  —  no  —  dear 
me—  '  All  eyes  are  upon  me.  Of  course  I  know.  Boldly, 
but  with  a  nervous  feeling  that  I  'm  not  quite  right  yet, 


96  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

I  say,  "  Sequestered,"  and  lean  back  in  my  chair,  some- 
what hot. 

Happy  thought.  —  Sequestered. 

Mrs".  Fraser  adopts  it.  "  Sequestered  by  Government." 
Miss  Harding  goes  into  a  fit  of  laughing.  I  see  the  mis- 
take, so  does  Mrs.  Fraser,  so  does  every  one.  Every  one 
laughs.  They  all  think  it's  my  joke,  and  Mrs.  Fraser  taps 
me  on  the  hand  with  her  fan,  and  explains  to  the  General, 
"sequestered,  you  know,  for  sequestrated.""  Every  one  laughs 
again,  except  Miss  Harding,  who,  Mrs.  Fraser  keeps  whis- 
pering to  me,  is  "  such  a  clever  girl,  so  well  read.  Draw 
her  out."  She  won't  be  drawn  out  any  more  than  the 
General.  The  party,  I  subsequently  find,  has  been  asked 
expressly  to  meet  me,  and  the  Erasers  do  their  best  to  give 
everything  a  literary  turn.  Odd  ;  I  don't  feel  a  bit  brilliant 
this  evening.  Very  disappointing  this  must  be  to  the 
guests.  I  can't  even  talk  to  Miss  Harding.  In  conse- 
quence of  what  is  expected  of  me,  I  can't  stoop  to  talk 
about  the  weather,  or  what  any  one  's  "  been  doing  to-day." 
After  the  haunch  of  venison,  I  am  going  to  begin  to  Miss 
Harding  about  "  the  Human  Mind  in  its  several  aspects," 
when  she  says,  "  I  thought  you  authors  were  full  of  con- 
versation and  sparkling  wit."  It's  rather  rude  of  her,  but 
Mrs.  Fraser  should  n't  lead  her  to  expect  so  much.  I  can 
only  say,  "  Did  you  ?  "  As  an  afterthought  I  ask  "  Why  ?  " 

She  replies,  "  Well,  one  reads  of  the  meetings  of  such 
men  as  Sheridan,  Burke,  Grattan,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  they 
seem  to  have  said  witty  things  every  moment."  I  feel  that 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  97 

I  am  called  upon  to  defend  the  literary  character  for  esprit 
in  the  present  day.  I  reply,  "  Well  you  see,"  deliberately, 
"it's  so  different  now,  it's  in  fact  more  — "  I  am  inter- 
rupted by  a  gentleman,  on  the  other  side,  in  a  white  waist- 
coat and  iron-gray  whiskers,  "  No  wits  nowadays,"  he 
says.  "  Why,  I  recollect  Coleridge,  Count  D'Orsay,  Scott, 
Southey,  and  Tommy  Moore,  with  old  Maginn,  sir,  at  one 
table.  Then,  sir,  there  was  poor  Hook,  and  Mathevvs,  and 
Yates.  I  'm  talking  of  a  time  before  you  were  born  or 
thought  of —  "  He  says  this  as  if  he  'd  done  something 
clever  in  being  born  when  he  was,  and  as  if  I  'd  made  an 
entire  mistake  in  choosing  my  time  for  an  existence.  Every 
one  is  attending  to  the  gentleman  in  the  white  waistcoat, 
who  defies  contradiction,  because  all  his  stories  are  of  a 
time  before  any  one  at  the  table  "  was  born  or  thought  of." 
It 's  very  annoying  that  there  should  ever  have  been  such 
a  period. 

Happy  Thought.  —  In  Chap.  10,  Book  IX.  of  Typical 
Developments,  "  The  Vanity  of  Existence."  From  litera- 
ture he  gets  to  the  Drama.  He  seems  to  remember  every 
actor.  According  to  him,  no  one  ever  did  anything  in 
literature  or  art  without  asking  his  advice.  His  name  is 
Brounton,  and  he  speaks  of  himself  in  the  third  person  as 
Harry.  I  try  to  speak  to  Miss  Harding,  but  she  is  listen- 
ing to  a  story  from  Brounton  about  "  Old  Mathews." 
"  You  did  n't  know  old  Mathews,"  he  says  to  Fraser,  who 
humbly  admits  he  did  n't.  "  Ah,  I  recollect,  before  he  ever 
thought  of  giving  his  entertainment,  his  coming  to  me  and 
5  G 


98  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

saying,  '  Harry,  my  boy,'  —  he  always  called  me  Harry,  — 
'  Harry,  my  boy,'  says  he,  '  I  'd  give  a  hundred  pounds  to 
be  able  to  sing  and  speak  like  you.'  '  I  wish  I  could  lend 
it  you,  Matty,'  I  said  to  him, —  I  used  to  call  him  Matty, 
—  '  but  Harry  Brounton  would  n't  part  with  his  musical  ear 
ior  — '  "  Here  a  diversion  is  created  by  the  entrance  of  the 
children.  I  see  the  one  who  made  faces  at  me  from  the 
window.  Ugly  boy.  The  child  who  would  bother  me 
when  I  was  dressing  is  between  Mrs.  Fraser  and  myself. 
I  give  him  grapes  and  fruit  to  propitiate  him :  great  point 
to  make  friends  with  juveniles.  He  whispers  to  me  pres- 
ently, "  You  don't  know  what  me  and  Conny  's  done." 
I  say,  cheerfully,  "  No,  I  can't  guess."  He  whispers, 
"  We  've  been  playing  at  going  out  of  town  with  your  box." 
I  should  like  to  pinch  him.  He  continues,  whispering,  "  I 
say,  it 's  in  your  room,  you  know  :  we  got  such  a  lot  of 
things  in  it."  I  don't  like  to  tell  Mrs.  Fraser,  who  says, 
"  There,  Dolly,  don't  be  troublesome."  I  am  distracted. 
The  boy  on  the  side  of  Mrs.  Fraser  (he  was  the  nuisance 
in  the  croquet  ground),  says,  pointing  at  me,  "  O,  he 's 
got  such  a  funny  hat,"  and  is  immediately  silenced.  I 
should  like  to  hear  more  about  this  hat.  I  ask  Dolly,  who 
whispers,  "  the  nurse  took  it  away  from  him,  cos  she  said 
that  he  'd  hurt  himself."  The  little  Frasers  have  evidently 
been  smashing  my  gibus.  The  ladies  rise,  and  the  children 
go  with  them.  "  You  won't  stop  long,"  says  Mrs.  Fraser, 
persuasively.  "  No,  no,"  answers  Fraser.  "  Because  I  've 
allowed  the  children  to  sit  up  on  purpose,"  continues  Mrs. 
Fraser,  looking  at  me.  "  All  right,"  returns  Fraser ; 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  99 

"  we  '11  just  have  one  glass  of  wine,  and  then  we  ;11  come 
into  the  drawing-room  ;  and,"  —  smiling  upon  me,  —  "  he  '11 
give  us  '  The  Little  Pig  jumped]  with  the  squeak  and  all." 

I  find  that  all  the  guests  have  been  asked  expressly  to 
hear  me  sing  this  :  I  also  find  that  there  are  a  great 
many  people  coming  in  the  evening  for  the  same  special 
purpose.  I  have  n't  done  it  for  years.  Fraser  seems 
to  think  that  any  man  who  writes  is  merely  a  buffoon.  I 
only  wonder  that  he  does  n't  ask  me  to  dance  a  saraband 
for  the  amusement  of  his  friends.  I  am  astonished  at 
Mrs.  Fraser.  I  tell  Fraser  I  Ve  forgotten  the  song. 
He  won't  hear  of  it :  he  says,  "  You  '11  remember  it  as 
you  go  on."  I  say,  I  can't  get  on  without  a  good  ac- 
companiment. He  returns  that  the  elder  Miss  Symperson 
plays  admirably.  Every  one  says,  "  O,  you  must  sing." 
The  American  General,  who  speaks  for  the  first  time,  now 
says,  "  He  's  come  ten  miles  to  hear  it."  Brounton  sup- 
poses "I  don't  recollect  Old  Mathews  at  Home?"  I 
don't,  and  he  has  me  at  a  disadvantage. 

He  goes  on  to  ask  me  if  I  accompany  myself.  No,  I 
don't  '•  Ah  ! "  says  he,  "  I  recollect  Theodore  Hook  sitting 
down  to  the  piano  and  dashing  off  a  song  and  an  accom- 
paniment impromptu.  You  don't  improvise  ? "  he  asks  me. 
I  am  obliged  to  own  frankly  that  I  do  not,  but  in  the  tone 
of  one  who  could  if  he  liked.  "Ah,"  he  goes  on,  "you 
should  hear  the  Italian  Improvisatori !  Ever  been  to 
Italy  ?  "  No,  I  have  n't :  he  has,  and  again  I  am  at  a  dis- 
advantage. "Ah,"  he  exclaims,  "that  is  something  like 
improvisation :  such  fire  and  humor,  —  more  than  in  the 


100  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

French.  Of  course,  you  know  all  Be'ranger's  songs  by 
heart?"  Before  I  have  time  to  say  that  I  know  a  few,  he 
is  off  again.  "  Ah  !  the  French  comic  songs  are  so  light 
and  sparkling.  No  English  comic  song  can  touch  them,  — 
and -then,  where  are  your  singers?"  I  wish  to  goodness 
he  'd  not  been  asked  to  hear  "  The  Little  Pig"  Going  out 
of  the  dining-room,  Fraser  says  to  me,  "  Capital  fellow, 
Brounton,  is  n't  he  ?  —  so  amusing."  If  I  don't  admit  it, 
Fraser  will  think  me  envious  and  ill-natured ;  so  I  say 
heartily,  "  Brounton  !  very  amusing  fellow,  —  great  fun,"  - 
and  we  are  in  the  drawing-room. 

Here  I  find  all  the  people  who  have  been  invited  in  the 
evening.  I  should  like  to  be  taken  ill.  The  children  are 
at  me  at  once.  "  Ma  says  you  're  to  sing."  Little  brutes ! 
The  eider  Miss  Symperson,  who  will  be  happy  to  play  for 
me,  is  seated  near  the  piano.  She  is  half  a  head  taller  than 
I  am,  and  peculiarly  elegant  and  ladylike.  My  last  chance 
is  trying  to  frighten  her  out  of  accompanying  me.  I  tell 
her  the  tune  is  difficult  to  catch.  Will  I  hum  it  to  her  ? 
I  hum  it  to  her.  In  humming  it  is  difficult  to  choose  any 
words  but  "  rum  turn  turn,"  and  very  difficult  to  convey 
a  right  notion  of  the  tune.  Two  children  standing  by 
the  piano  give  their  version  of  it.  I  say,  "hush  "  to  them, 
and  lose  the  tune.  Miss  Symperson  does  catch  it,  and 
chooses  a  key  for  me.  Fraser,  thinking  the  song  is  begin- 
ning, says,  "  Silence,"  and  interrupts  Brounton  in  a  loud 
story  about  his  remembering  "  Old  Mathews  singing  a  song 
about  a  pig,  —  he  was  inimitable,  Mathews  was,"  —  when 
I  have  to  explain  that  we  're  not  ready  to  begin  yet.  The 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  loi 

conversation  is  resumed :  Mrs.  Fraser  seats  herself  on  an 
ottoman  with  her  two  very  youngest  children,  who  are 
fidgety,  near  the  piano ;  the  two  others  insist  on  standing 
just  in  front  of  me  by  the  piano.  Miss  Harding  takes  a 
small  chair  quite  close  to  me  ;  by  her  sits  a  Captain  some- 
one, who  has  come  in  the  evening  with  his  sister.  I  feel 
that  she  despises  buffoonery,  but  if  the  Pig-song  is  to  be 
anything  at  all,  it  must  be  done  with  a  good  deal  of  facial 
expression.  The  Captain  is  evidently  joking  with  her  at  my 
expense.  Don't  know  him,  but  hate  him :  because  it 's  very 
ungentlemanly  and  unfair  to  laugh  at  you,  just  when  you  're 
going  to  sing  a  comic  song.  I  tell  Fraser,  apologetically, 
that  I  really  am  afraid  I  shall  break  down.  Brounton  says, 
"  Never  mind  —  improvise."  Miss  Symperson  says,  "  Shall 
I  begin  ?  "  I  answer,  "  If  you  please,"  and  she  plays  what 
she  thinks  is  the  air.  I  am  obliged  to  stop  her,  and  say 
that  it 's  not  quite  correct.  This  makes  a  hitch  to  begin 
with.  Brounton  says  something  about  a  tuning-fork,  and 
every  one  laughs  except  the  Captain,  who  is  talking  in  a 
low  tone  to  Miss  Harding.  Mrs.  Fraser's  youngest  child 
on  her  lap,  says  :"  Ma,  why  —  doo  —  de  —  "  Hush!  Miss 
Symperson,  in  not  a  particularly  good  temper,  plays  it 
again.  More  like  a  march  than  a  comic  song,  but  I  don't 
like  to  tell  her  so.  I  begin  :  — 

"A  little  pig  lived  on  the  best  of  straw, 
Straw  —  hee-haw  —  and  Shandiddlelaw." 

And  the  idea  flashes  across  my  mind  what  an  ass  I  'm 
making  of  myself.  At  the  "  hee-haw,"  the  pianist  has  to 
do  six  notes  up  and  down,  like  a  donkey  braying.  This  is 


102  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

one  of  the  points  of  the  song.  Miss  Symperson  does  n't 
do  it.  I  hear,  afterwards,  that  she  thought  it  vulgar,  and 
omitted  it  purposely.  I  go  on :  — 

"  Lillibullero,  lillibullero,  lillibullero, 

Shandiddlelan, 
My  daddy  's  a  bonny  wee  man." 

I  feel  it  is  idiotic.  Miss  Symperson  plays  a  bar  too 
much.  She  did  n't  know  I  finished  there.  I  beg  she  won't 
apologize.  Next  verse  :  — 

"This  little  pig's  mother  she  was  the  old  sow, 
Ow,  ow,  ow,  and  Shandiddleow." 

I  feel  it 's  more  idiotic  than  ever.  Here  I  see  Miss 
Harding  exchanging  glances  with  the  Captain,  and  Mrs. 
Fraser  with  several  ladies  ;  they  raise  their  eyebrows  and 
look  grim.  I  suddenly  recollect  I  've  got  some  rather 
broad  verses  coming.  The  idea  also  occurs  to  me  for 
the  first  time  that  when  Fraser  did  hear  me  sing  it,  years 
ago,  it  was  amongst  a  party  of  bachelors  after  supper.  I 
go  on  with  lillibullero,  and  have  half  a  mind  to  give  it  up 
altogether :  — 

"  The  Farmer's  wife  went  out  for  a  walk, 
Walk,  ork,  ork,  and  shandiddle  lork. 
'I  fancy,'  says  she,  'a  slice  of  good  pork.'  " 

This  I  used  to  do,  I  remember,  with  a  wink  and  making 
a  face  like  a  clown.  I  risk  it.  I  feel  I  don't  do  it  with 
spirit,  and  nobody  laughs.  I  see  Brounton  whisper  behind 
his  hand  to  the  American  General,  and  I  am  sure  that  he  's 
"  seen  old  Mathews  do  this  very  thing,"  or  something  of 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  103 

that  sort.  Getting  desperate,  I  make  more  hideous  faces  in 
the  Lillibullero  chorus.  Miss  Harding  looks  down ;  the 
ladies  regard  one  another  curiously,  —  I  believe  they  think 
I  've  had  too  much  wine  ;  the  ugly  boy,  by  the  piano,  begins 
to  imitate  my  faces,  and  the  youngest  in  arms  bursts  into 
a  violent  fit  of  tears.  Miss  Symperson  stops.  The  child 
won't  be  comforted.  Mrs.  Fraser  tells  the  wretched  little 
brat  that  "  the  gentleman  won't  make  any  more  ugly  faces, 
he  won't."  And,  turning  to  me,  asks  me  to  sing  without 
the  grimaces  :  "  They  can't,"  she  argues,  "  be  a  necessity  "  ; 
and  Fraser  reminds  me,  reprovingly,  that  when  I  sang  it 
before,  I  did  n't  make  those  faces.  I  have  half  a  mind  to 
ask  him  (being  rather  nettled)  what  faces  I  *#</make  ?  The 
result  is,  however,  to  set  the  two  boys  off  making  faces  at 
their  little  sisters,  for  which  they  are  very  nearly  being 
ordered  off  to  bed  instantly.  Miss  Symperson  asks  me, 
"  Shall  I  go  on  ? "  I  say,  despondently,  "  Yes,  if  you 
please,  we  may  as  well." 

"  The  farmer's  wife  was  fond  of  a  freak, 
Eak,  eak,  eak,  and  shandiddleleak, 
And  she  made  the  little  pig  squeak,  squeak,  squeak." 

Here  used  to  follow  the  imitation.  I  think  it  better  not 
to  do  it  now,  and  I  am  proceeding  with  the  next  verse, 
when  Fraser  says,  "  Halloa !  I  say,  do  the  squeak."  I  tell 
him  I  can't,  I  don't  feel  up  to  it.  He  says,  "  O,  do  try."  I 
hear  Miss  Harding  say,  "  O,  do  try."  The  Captain,  too, 
remarks  (I  see  his  eye)  "  He  hopes  I  '11  try,"  and  Brounton 
hopes  the  same  thing,  and  then  tells  something  about  Hook 
Vprobably)  behind  his  hand  to  the  General  I  say,  "  Very 


104  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

well,"  and  yield.  I  begin  squeaking  :  I  shut  my  eyes  and 
squeak  :  I  open  them  and  squeak.  I  try  it  four  times,  but 
am  obliged  to  own  publicly  "  that  there  is  no  fun  in  it  un- 
less you  're  in  cue  for  it."  No  one  seems  in  cue  for  it. 
The  children  begin  squeaking,  and  are  packed  off  to  bed. 
People  begin  to  resume  the  conversation.  I  say  to  Fraser 
I  don't  think  there  's  any  use  in  going  on  with  the  song  ? 
He  answers,  "  O  yes,  do  —  do  by  all  means."  But  as  he  is 
not  by  any  means  enthusiastic  about  it,  I  thank  Miss  Sym- 
person,  who  acknowledges  it  very  stiffly  and  coldly,  and 
cuts  me  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening.  Brounton  comes 
up  and  tells  me  loudly,  "  That  he  remembers  old  Mathews 
doing  that  song,  or  something  exactly  like  it,  years  ago ; 
it  was  admirable."  Miss  Florelly  asks  me  quietly,  "  If  I  'd 
written  many  songs."  I  disown  the  authorship  of  the  pig. 
The  Captain  sings  a  sentimental  ballad  about  "  Meet  me 
where  the  Flow1  ret  droops"  to  Miss  Harding's  accompani- 
ment, and  every  one  is  charmed. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Bed-time.  I  '11  never  sing  again  as 
long  as  I  live. 

///  ;;//  Room.  —  My  shirts,  brushes,  combs,  ties,  opera- 
hat,  fire-irons,  boots,  collars,  sponges,  and  everything,  have 
been  thrown  anyhow  into  my  portmanteau.  Who  the  — 

O,  I  recollect :  this  is  what  that  horrid  little  wretch 
meant,  when  he  told  me,  at  dessert,  that  he  and  his  sister 
had  been  playing  at  packing  up  in  my  room. 

I  wish  I  was  back  at  Boodels's.  I  dare  say  they  're  drag- 
ging the  pond,  and  enjoying  themselves.  I  don't  think  I 
shall  stop  here  any  longer. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

STILL  AT  ERASER'S.  —  PROGRESS  OF  THE  GREAT  WORK. — 
I  THINK  OF  THE  YOUNGER  MISS  SYMPERSON.  —  NIGHT 
THOUGHTS.  —  INTERVIEW  WITH  A  COUNTRY  POLICE- 
MAN. 


THOUGHT.  —  To  stop  here  as  long  as 
I  can.  I  don't  get  on  with  Typical  Develop- 
ments.  Have  hardly  made  a  note  for  three 
days,  except  about  the  Sympersons :  they  live 
in  (he  neighborhood.  Mrs.  Fraser  likes  the  Younger  Miss 
Symperson,  Miss  Fridoline,  very  much.  I  have  had  to  escort 
her  a  good  deal :  she  can  talk  sensibly.  I  have  consulted 
her  on  several  subjects  in  Typical  Developments.  She 
understands  me,  and  is  not  a  mere  fritterling.  No  one  has 
asked  me  again  to  sing  "  The  Little  Ptg"  and  Mrs.  Fraser 
is  now  more  impressed  with  the  serious  and  deeper-toned 
side  of  my  character.  I  reproached  old  Fraser  with  making 
me  appear  a  buffoon.  He  owned  his  mistake,  and  said  I 
was  not  a  buffoon  :  we  are  as  good  friends  as  ever.  In 
fact,  to  humor  him,  I  offered  to  sing  "  The  Little  Pig"  the 
other  night  when  no  one  was  here,  feeling  in  the  vein. 
They  were  delighted  at  the  proposal,  but  feared  it  would 
wake  the  children :  so  I  did  n't. 

The  above  is  a  brief  resume"  for  the  last  few  days  up  to 
to-night 

5* 


Io6  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  've  not  left  my  present  address  any- 
where, so  business  can't  call  me  away.  I  am  in  the  humor 
for  the  pen.  Now  :  the  moon  is  shining  :  the  sweet  autumn 
moon.  I  think  of  Fridoline  Symperson. 

Happy  Thought:  Midnight. —  If  I  open  my  window  I 
shall  see  the  Sympersons'  carriage  pass  here  on  their  road 
home  :  she  will  be  inside,  and  how  it  will  delight  her  to  see 
me  watching  for  her.  Not  in  my  dressing-gown,  though  : 
my  dark  shooting-coat.  I  sit  down  to  Typical  Develop- 
ments. Can't  do  it.  I  feel  poetical  :  inspired.  My  pen. 
A  poem,  —  I  feel  it ;  coming.  I  will  dash  it  off,  — 

"  Ah,  fairest  !  whose  dear  eyes  —  " 

"  Dear  eyes  "  suddenly  strikes  me  as  too  nautical.  Odd 
thing  inspiration  is  :  it 's  almost  oozing  away  now.  I  wiil 
fix  it  :  — 

"  Ah,  fairest,  whose  blest  form, 
Calm  as  pale  Dian's  orb  —  " 

Wheels  :  I  am  at  the  window  with  a  palpitating  heart. 
No  —  yes  —  no  !  A  cart,  a  wanderer's  cart ;  a  houseless 
pedler,  maybe.  Whoever  he  is,  he  's  very  intoxicated,  and 
calls  me  "  Old  Cockywax,"  which  gets  a  laugh  from  another 
miserable  creature,  invisible.  This  is  not  the  Symper- 
sons. *  *  *  * 

"  Ah,  fairest  Fridoline,  whose  —  " 

I  don't  think  I  ought  to  introduce  her  name  into  the  first 
line.  Strange :  inspiration  has  ceased. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  107 

Happy  Thought.  —  Will  write  her  a  song.  To  the  window. 
I  say  rapturously,  "  O  Moon,"  but  nothing  comes  of  it, 
except  that  my  eyes  begin  to  water.  How  quiet  and  still ! 
Not  a  soul  stirring :  not  even  a  patrol.  One  o'clock :  why, 
this  house  might  be  broken  into,  over  and  over  again,  with- 
out a  patrol.  Carriage-wheels  !  louder,  louder,  louder, — 
less  loud,  —  faint,  fainter,  fainter  —  it  has  taken  a  turning 
—  not  the  Sympersons.  *  *  *  *  I  look  at  myself  in  the 
glass :  I  am  pale.  Am  I  going  to  be  ill  ?  *  *  *  *  Yes,  I 
shall  be  ill :  given  up.  Fridoline  will  rush  into  the  room. 
I  shall  then  confess  my  concealed  passion  ;  so  will  she.  I 
expire  in  her  arms,  or  am  about  to  expire,  when  the  crisis 
passes,  and  I  suddenly  get  quite  well :  then  we  are  married. 
Happy  thoughts,  all  the  above.  There  are  tears  in  my  eyes  : 
I  call  myself  a  fool.  A  minute  afterwards  I  find  myself 
shaking  my  head,  pointlessly,  at  the  moon. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  write  a  novel  on  this  subject. 
Might  make  notes  for  it  now. 

Half  past  One.  —  No  patrol,  —  how  very  dangerous  :  I 
shall  certainly  call  Eraser's  attention  to  this.  *  *  *  *  Yes, 
Mrs.  Fraser  asked  me  when  I  first  arrived,  "  If  I  was  still 
a  bachelor  ?  "  She  likes  Fridoline  Symperson,  and  talks  to 
me  of  her.  How  happy  the  Frasers  are  !  ah,  how  delightful 
to  retire  —  *  *  *  *  Wheels  ?  no,  *  *  *  *  to  retire  into 
married  literary  ease.  Little  secluded  cottage,  honeysuckles 
up  the  trellis,  sort  of  church-porch  before  the  door,  myself 
writing  at  a  window  opening  on  to  a  beautiful  lawn,  my  wife 
sitting  knitting  on  a  small  stool.  I  write  a  bit,  then  read 


xoS  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

it  to  her ;  she  smiles  and  encourages  me.  I  write  another 
paragraph,  and  then  read  that  to  her  ;  she  smiles  and  en- 
courages me  again.  So  we  go  on :  reading,  writing,  smiling, 
and  encouraging.  Then,  in  my  old  age,  when  my  name  shall 
be  known  everywhere  in  connection  with  Typical  Develop- 
ments, I  shall  sit  in  the  porch,  gray  hair  falling  on  to  my 
shoulders,  my  hands  patting  the  little  children's  heads, 
while  I  strew  fresh  flowers  every  morning,  before  break- 
fast, over  a  little  white  stone  in  the  churchyard,  whereon 
is  inscribed  but  two  words,  in  old  English  characters, 
"  MY  FRIDOLINE."  I  see  it  all :  tears  dim  my  eyes  :  I  'm 
feverish. 

Two  o'clock,  A.  M.  —  Odd  that  there  should  be  no  police. 
I  will  mention  it  in  the  morning. 

I  wonder  with  whom  she  is  dancing?  Is  she  dancing 
with  that  fellow,  Talboots  ?  I  wish  I  had  spoken  to  her 
yesterday,  when  I  walked  twice  past  their  house,  waiting 
for  an  opportunity  to  go  in.  I  saw  her  in  the  garden,  and 
only  bowed ;  agony. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Call  to-morrow,  and  ask  how  she  is 
after  the  party. 

She  told  me  she  wished  she  had  n't  got  to  go.  Has  she 
told  any  one  else  the  same  thing  ?  Or  is  it  because  I  am 
not  going  to  be  there.  I  wonder  if  she  has  one  passing 
thought  for  me.  Yes,  I  believe  in  sympathy ;  in  that 
strange  electrical  bond  of  union  which  binds  two  hearts 
together.  There  will  be  fools  who  talk  nonsense  to  her ; 
she  hates  that  vapid  frivolity.  To-morrow  I  will  call  on 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  109 

her.  The  Frasers  won't  mind  it ;  Mrs.  Fraser  understands 
me.  I  'm  afraid  it  will  look  too  pointed,  though.  I  wish  I 
had  gone  in  yesterday  when  I  saw  her  in  the  garden.  I 
went  there  on  purpose,  yet  I  only  bowed  and  walked  on. 
Fool !  thrice-sodden  fool !  *  *  *  *  All  this  sort  of  thing  is 
very  bad  for  calm  writing. 

Three  o'clock.  —  No  wheels.  There,  I  've  sat  here  for 
three  hours  and  not  seen  a  sign  of  a  watchman  or  a  police- 
man. I  shall  certainly  call  Fraser's  attention  to  the  ab- 
sence of  the  patrol.  He  will  complain  to  the  inspector. 
The  air  is  getting  chilly.  *  *  *  *  How  a  sneeze  relieves 
one's  head.  I  can  smile  now :  what  at  ?  I  don't  know. 
The  roll  of  wheels  —  the  spanking  trot  of  fast  horses  — 
lights  —  it  is  the  Sympersons'  carriage  !  They  must  n't 
see  me  at  the  window  :  I  withdraw  on  one  side.  *  *  *  *  It 
has  passed :  what  an  ass  I  was  not  to  stand  at  the  window, 
and  wave,  or  perhaps  kiss,  my  hand.  I  dare  say  she  was 
looking  out ;  she  might  have  been  ?  I  wish  it  would  come 
over  again.  There  's  a  ledge  in  front  of  my  window,  by 
stepping  up  there,  I  can  see  them  turning  into  their  own 
gates :  I  do  it.  The  candle  gutters  out.  I  am  on  the  leads. 
Ah,  Fridoline  !  dear  Fridoline  !  No,  the  gates  must  have 
been  open,  as  they  've  driven  in,  and  vanished.  Ah,  Fri- 
doline !  my  sweetest  dreams Somebody  moving  be- 
low ;  in  the  road.  A  voice,  "  Hallo  !  "  Probably  another 
drunken  creature  (degrading  vice  of  the  country ! ).  I  will 
get  in  again,  and  not  encourage  him  in  his  coarseness.  A 
light  shines  about  me  vividly.  What  is  it  ?  From  below. 
The  same  rough  voice  says,  "  Hallo !  what  are  you  up  to 


HO  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

there?"  It  is  the  patrol.  I  say  quietly  from  the  leads, 
"  'S-s-s-h,  it 's  all  right."  He  won't  believe  it,  and  says 
he  '11  soon  make  it  all  right.  I  tell  him  I  'm  stopping  in 
the  house.  He  wants  to  know  "  What  I  'm  doing  up  there, 
then  ? "  I  answer,  "  Nothing."  "  I  thought  so,"  he  says. 
"  You  just  come  down."  He  adds,  "  Or  else  he  '11  very 
soon  know  the  reason  why,"  threateningly.  I  assure  him 
that  he  's  wrong.  He  is  getting  very  angry,  and  tells  me, 
"  He  '11  soon  let  me  know  if  he  's  wrong  or  not."  I  own  to 
him  candidly  that  appearances  are  against  me,  but  that  I 
came  out  there  to  look  after  the  Sympersons'  carriage.  I 
wish  him  to  understand  that  it 's  only  a  joke.  These  coun- 
try police  are  so  officious  ;  always  in  the  way. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  throw  him  sixpence.  He  is  in- 
dignant. I  implore  him  not  to  be  a  fool.  He  now  loses 
his  temper  entirely,  and  says,  "  He  '11  soon  let  me  know 
who  's  the  fool."  I  tell  him,  in  as  soft  a  whisper  as  can  be 
audible  from  the  leads,  to  call  in  the  morning  and  I  '11  set- 
tle it.  I  point  out  to  him  (hearing  a  window  opening  some- 
where) that  he  's  disturbing  the  house.  He  says,  "  He 
means  to,"  the  idiot !  and  rings  the  gate-bell  violently.  I 
get  into  my  room  and  close  the  window.  I  hear  Mrs. 
Fraser  screaming  "Is  it  fire  ?  "  Fraser  growling,  the  chil- 
dren crying,  and  the  servants  moving  about  below. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  I  explain,  I  shall  look  such  a  fool, 
and  Fraser  will  be  in  such  a  rage.  Will  tell  him  when  it 's 
all  blown  over. 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  Ill 

Happy  Thought.  —  Jump  into  bed.  Fraser,  butlei,  foot- 
man, with  pokers,  tongs,  and  shovels,  enter  in  a  tumult. 
In  the  distance  I  hear  the  maids  and  Mrs.  Fraser  all  more 
or  less  hysterical. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  ask,  "  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  They 
all  say,  in  a  muddle,  "  Man  —  broke  in,  —  p'liceman  saw 
him."  I  have  n't  seen  him  :  no.  Patrol,  from  outside, 
says  he  has  n't  come  back  again.  One  of  the  maids  shrieks, 
and  they  all  rush  out,  thinking  some  one  's  caught  sight  of 
him  on  the  stairs.  I  try  to  pacify  them  :  I  tell  Mrs.  Fraser, 
in  the  distance,  on  account  of  the  costume,  that  it  must 
have  been  the  patrol's  fancy.  I  begin  to  wish  I  'd  explained 
everything  at  first.  The  butler,  who  now  returns  from  con- 
versing with  the  policeman,  describes  the  burglar  as  dressed 
in  a  short  sort  of  dark  coat,  and  details  the  substance  of 
my  remarks  to  him  (the  policeman)  from  the  leads.  "  He 
said  as  he  was  a  lookin'  after  Mister  Symperson's  carriage." 
Fraser  at  once  convicts  the  burglar  as  a  liar,  "  Because,"  as 
he  informs  me,  "  the  Sympersons'  carriage  has  n't  been  out 
this  evening,  in  consequence  of  their  not  going  to  thti 
ball." 

3.30.  — Everyone  announces  the  impossibility  of  going  to 
bed  again.  The  coachman  can't  make  out  why  the  dog 
did  n't  bark.  With  the  groom  he  searches  the  grounds. 
Every  one  goes  about  searching  everywhere,  and  coming 
upon  each  other  suddenly  round  sharp  corners  ;  frightening 
one  another,  as  if  it  was  a  game.  Fraser  pops  out  of  his 
room  every  other  five  minutes  on  some  false  alarm,  to  ask 


112  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

me  "If  I  heard  anything,  then?"  or  to  say,  nervously, 
"  Who  's  there  ?  "  when  the  answer  generally  is,  "  It 's  only 
me,  sir/'  from  the  butler  or  the  footman,  who  appear  to  be 
running  away  from  Fraser,  or  catching  each  other,  like 
blindman's-buff.  An  al  fresco  game  of  the  same  kind  is 
being  played  in  the  grounds  by  the  groom,  the  coachman, 
and  the  policeman.  The  prevailing  idea  among  the  females 
is,  that  there  is  a  man  in  the  store-cupboard  :  the  strictest 
search  will  not  convince  them  to  the  contrary. 

The  butler  spends  the  remainder  of  the  night  on  the 
plate-chest,  with  a  poker  in  his  hand.  The  footman  sits  at 
the  top  of  the  servants'  Stairs,  and  alarms  the  entire  house- 
hold, for  a  second  time,  by  falling  asleep,  and  tumbling 
down  half  a  dozen  steps.  After  this  he  is  all  brown  paper, 
vinegar,  and  groans  ;  but  heroically  at  his  post,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  where  he  fell,  with  a  poker.  Every  one 
seems  to  have  got  a  poker. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Sha'  n't  say  anything  about  inatten- 
tion of  police,  or  they  '11  find  I  was  at  my  window.  O 
Fridoline  !  Bed,  —  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

AT  ERASER'S.  —  i  HAVE  A  TETE-A-TETE  WITH  FRIDOLINE, 

AND   LOSE  AN   OPPORTUNITY.  —  A   STRANGE  ANNOUNCE- 
MENT. 

HERE  is  no  one  up:  except  the  servants. 
Eraser  is  in  the  wine-cellar,  as  usual;  some 
samples  have  just  arrived  from  town,  and  two 
cases.  Miss  Fridoline  calls,  while  I  am  at  work 
on  Typical  Developments.  I  can  see  her  arrive  from 
my  room.  She  is  talking  to  the  footman,  who,  from  his 
rubbing  his  left  shoulder  very  often,  is  evidently  telling  her 
about  his  having  fallen  down  stairs,  and  last  night's  affair 
generally. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  let  her  see  me  at  my  window. 

I  wonder  if  she  did  see  me.  I  ought  to  have  looked  at 
her.  She  's  gone  in.  I  really  must  work.  Ch.  4,  Vol.  I., 
"On  the  Varieties  of  Inanimate  Nature."  I  sit  down  to 
write.  Hearing  a  door  slam,  I  jump  up  again.  It  is  not 
Miss  Fridoline.  To  work.  "  Philosophers,  in  every  age, 
have  directed  their  attention  to  the  —  "  A  rustling  in  the 
passage  by  my  door.  I  look  out  quietly.  It  is  the  house- 
maid, who,  not  having  got  over  her  fright  of  last  night, 
screams  on  seeing  me.  The  household,  being  generally 

H 


114  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

nervous  this  morning,  is  immediately  disturbed.  The  mat- 
ter is  explained  unsatisfactorily,  because  Mrs.  Fraser  begs 
I  '11  be  more  quiet,  and  I  return,  rather  annoyed  (it  is 
anneying  to  be  misunderstood),  to  Typical  Developments. 
"  Philosophers,  in  every  age,  have  directed  their  attention 
to  the  possibilities  of  the  power  inherent  in  mere  particles. 
The  calm  mind  of  inductive  science,  undisturbed  by  — '' 
It  is  Miss  Fridoline.  I  hear  her  saying,  "Yes,  Mrs 
Fraser,  I  '11  get  them  for  you."  She  passes  my  door,  and 
descends  the  staircase.  Shall  I  ?  I  will.  Typical  De- 
velopments can  wait. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Brush  my  hair,  and  settle  my  tie. 

We  meet  in  the  hall.  She  is  going  to  the  hot-house  to 
get  some  grapes  for  "  poor  Mrs.  Fraser."  I  say,  "  I  'm 
going  in  that  direction,  myself,"  and  then  look  at  her  with 
a  smile  intended  to  be  full  of  meaning.  On  repeating, 
afterwards,  the  same  smile  to  myself  in  the  looking-glass, 
the  meaning  does  n't  appear  sufficiently  distinct  and 
definite.  But  then  it  is  difficult  to  look  tenderly  at  one's 
self  in  a  looking-glass. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Try  the  effect  in  the  glass,  before,  not 
afterwards,  another  time. 

We  are  walking  along  the  gravel  path,  about  two  feet 
apart  from  one  another. 

She  is  humming  a  tune.  I  feel  that  all  my  conversational 
powers  have  entirely  deserted  me.  She  says,  "  I  'm  sure 
it 's  boring  you  very  much  to  walk  with  me.  I  really  can 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  11$ 

go  alone,  I  assure  you."  I  feel  taken  aback  by  the  remark : 
somehow,  with  all  my  knowledge  of  human  nature,  it  is  n't 
what  I  had  expected  her  to  say.  I  should  like  to  come  out 
with  something  now  which  would  clinch  matters.  I  reply, 
"  O  no,  I  'm  not  bored,"  which,  I  feel,  implies  that  I  am 
only  saying  so  out  of  politeness.  After  this,  it  seems  that 
my  power  of  speech  has  entirely  deserted  me.  If  I  talked 
at  all,  I  should  like  it  to  be  on  very  serious  subjects.  It 
strikes  me  that  if  there  was  a  third  person  here,  I  could  be 
brilliant.  We  enter  another  path.  Miss  Fridoline  re- 
marks, laughingly,  that  I  don't  talk.  Again  I  have  no 
answer  ready.  I  can't  make  out  where  my  answers  have 
gone  to.  I  am  sure  she  knows  what  my  feelings  are 
towards  her,  and  she  ought  n't  to  laugh.  I  'm  afraid, 
after  all,  she  is  frivolous.  I  ask  her  "  What  we  shall  talk 
about  ?  "  She  says,  "  O,  you  must  start  a  subject."  Some- 
thing, I  don't  know  what,  suggests,  as  a  subject,  "  Beetles." 
I  can't  put  it  down  as  a  happy  thought. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  art  of  talking  to  any  one  with 
whom  you  are  secretly  in  love  is  included  in  the  power  of 
making  repartees. 

She  is  evidently  getting  tired  of  me.  She  wants  to  know 
if  I  have  n't  any  stories  to  tell  her.  No,  I  have  n't.  "  Dear 
me  !  "  she  returns,  "  I  thought  you  would  be  such  an  amus- 
ing companion.  I  thought  you  'd  have  a  fund  of  anecdotes." 
So  I  have  :  somewhere.  I  defend  myself  by  saying,  "  I 
did  n't  come  out  to  tell  anecdotes."  I  am  obliged  to  laugh 
after  this  speech,  as  I  am  conscious  of  its  having  a  certain 


Xi6  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

amount  of  surliness  in  its  tone.  "  Did  n't  you  ?  "  is  her  re« 
ply.  "  You  don't  expect  me  to  do  it."  I  feel  I  am  becom- 
ing cross  :  I  tell  her  that  "  I  don't  want  any  one  to  do  it.  A 
little  more  and  we  shall  quarrel.  She  suggests,  "  Well,  you 
can  sing  me  a  comic  song,  then  ?  I'm  sure  you  must  know 
numbers  of  songs."  This  is  an  allusion  to  "  The  Little  Pig 
squeaked."  I  don't  like  it.  The  idea  of  walking  about  with 
the  girl  whom  you  secretly  love,  and  doing  nothing  but  sing 
comic  songs  to  her !  I  brood  over  this,  and  am  silent.  I 
make  up  my  mind  to  lead  up  to  the  subject  nearest  my  heart, 
on  the  next  opportunity.  We  turn  up  another  gravel  path. 
She  observes  that  she  's  "afraid  I  'm  not  well."  Is  this  an 
opportunity  ?  No :  I  '11  wait  for  a  better.  I  tell  her  that 
I  'm  not  Very  well  this  morning,  in  order  to  excite  her  com- 
passion. "  Then,"  she  says,  "  don't  fatigue  yourself  to  walk 
with  me.''  The  time  has  come.  I  pump  up  my  voice  with 
difficulty,  through  a  very  hot  throat.  When  it  does  come 
out,  it  sounds  as  if  I  'd  been  eating  a  pound  of  nuts,  with 
the  husks  on,  and  was  talking  under  a  blanket.  I  say,  "  I 
can't  feel  fatigued,"  here  I  clear  my  throat,  but  am  still 
under  the  blanket,  "  while  walking  with  you."  And  I  clear 
my  throat  again. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Not  to  clear  your  throat  in  the  middle 
of  a  speech.  Ineffective. 

She  apparently  has  n't  heard  my  observation,  as  she  re- 
marks, immediately,  "  What  a  beautiful  place  this  is  !  "  I 
answer,  coming  a  little  way  out  of  the  blanket,  but  hotter 
than  ever,  "  You  did  n't  hear  what  I  said  ? "  She  asks, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  1 17 

«  What,  just  now  ?  "  I  answer,  "  Yes."  Her  reply  is,  "  that 
she  did  hear  it :  but  why  ? "  I  don't  know  "  why." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  have  some  fixed  attitude  for 
one's  hands.  To  pocket  them  looks  careless  when  you  're 
talking  to  some  one  you  really  like. 

I  try  to  explain  "  why."  1  say,  pointedly,  with  my  wide- 
awake well  shading  my  eyes,  "  I  don't  think  you  under- 
stand me."  I  am  getting  to  the  point.  She  returns,  that 
"  she  did  n't  know  there  was  anything  particular  to  under- 
stand." Not  seeing  my  way  to  an  explanation,  I  say, 
"  Oh  !  "  in  a  tone  of  disappointment.  She  suggests  that  we 
had  better  make  haste  to  get  to  the  grape-house,  as  poor 
Mrs.  Fraser  is  waiting.  I  say  nothing,  but  quicken  my 
pace  despairingly.  She  commences  another  topic.  "  What 
a  very  nice  person  Mrs.  Fraser  is  ! "  Not  caring  to  talk 
about  Mrs.  Fraser,  I  feel  inclined  to  depreciate  her.  I  say, 
sourly,  "  '  Nice  ! '  I  hate  that  phrase."  Well,  then,  Miss 
Fridoline  will  substitute  "  so  agreeable  and  kind,  and  so 
lively  "  ;  adding,  "  I  like  lively  people."  I  am  aware  this 
is  a  cut  at  me.  Feeling  hurt,  I  can't  help  saying,  "I  'm 
afraid  I  'm  not  lively."  She  returns,  "  No ;  you  do  not 
seem  very  lively  this  morning." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Never  give  anybody  an  opening  to 
make  a  cutting  remark. 

"  One  cannot  always  be  lively,"  I  answer,  bitterly,  "  and 
playing  the  fool.  Women,  I  suppose,  are  fond  of  that  sort 
of  thing."  "  Thank  you,"  says  Miss  Symperson,  "  I  did  n't 
know  I  was  fond  of  playing  the  fool."  "  1  did  n't  say  that," 


ll 8  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

I  explain.  "  I  give  you  credit,  Miss  Fridoline,  for  appre- 
ciating thoughts  of  a  more  serious  character."  I  should 
Mke  to  talk  to  her  about  my  Typical  Developments.  While 
I  am  thinking  how  I  shall  begin,  she  asks  me,  "  Are  you 
generally  so  dull  ? "  I  see  the  opportunity.  I  answer, 
"No,  not  always  ;  but  —  "  (here  I  made  the  plunge)  "  with 
you  I  can't  help  it."  She  interrupts  me,  "  O,  then,  with  any 
one  else  you  'd  be  lively  and  cheerful  ?  That 's  a  nice 
compliment." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Never  come  out  without  a  pocket- 
handkerchief.  When  you  're  talking  with  any  one  you 
really  care  about,  it 's  a  very  difficult  thing  to  use  a  pocket- 
handkerchief  with  anything  like  grace.  You  can't  say, 
"  I  love  you  !  "  with  your  nose  hidden.  I  find  it ;  but  wait 
for  an  opportunity.  If  we  come  to  a  narrow  path,  where 
I  can  walk  behind  her,  I  '11  use  it  then. 

We  turn  a  corner,  and  come  suddenly  upon  the  children. 
"  Dear  little  things  !  "  cries  Miss  Fridoline.  She  takes  the 
baby  from  the  nurse.  I  look  on,  morosely.  The  ugly  boy 
is  there  making  faces  at  me.  I  think  I  could  strangle  them 
all.  Miss  Fridoline  shows  me  the  baby,  and  asks  me  if 
it  is  n't  a  pretty  little  darling  ?  I  smile  on  it,  and  say, 
"  Charming ! " 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  take  care  what  one  says  of 
children  before  the  nurses.  They  may  tell  Mrs.  Fraser. 
One  of  the  children,  a  sharp  little  girl,  who  ranks  between 
the  ugly  boy  and  his  younger  brother,  begs  to  be  allowed  to 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  1 19 

walk  with  "  Friddy."  Nurse  says,  "  She  '11  be  a  nuisance  to 
Miss  Fridoline,"  who  replies,  "O  no,  —  not  at  all ;  do  let 
her  come  ;  I  '11  take  care  of  her."  I  agree  with  the  nurse, 
but  keep  it  to  myself,  and  say,  gratuitously,  "  I  always  get  on 
well  with  children."  The  child  says,  "  Come  on,  Friddy." 
How  I  should  like  to  call 'her  "  Friddy  "  !  Away  we  walk 
towards  the  hot-house, — she,  I,  and  the  sharp  little  girl. 
The  sharp  little  girl  begins  pleasantly.  She  says  to  Frido- 
line, "  I  say,  Friddy,  we  don't  want  him  with  us,  do  we?" 
meaning  me.  I  should  like  to  box  her  ears.  I  say,  "  O 
yes,  you  do,  though,"  and  smile.  She  continues,  "  O,  you  're 
a  great  stupid,  you  are  ;  we  don't  want  you."  Miss  Frido- 
line laughs.  I  laugh  too  ;  such  a  laugh  !  I  tell  the  child, 
hoping  to  stop  her  sharpness,  "You  mustn't  be  rude." 
Whereupon  she  cries  out,  "You're  Mister  Pigsqueaker, 
you  are  ;  that 's  what  we  all  call  you,  Mister  Pigsqueaker  !  " 
Miss  Fridoline  is  laughing:  the  child  is  encouraged,  and 
goes  on,  crying  out,  "  Wee  wee,  wee,  Mister  Piggysqueak- 
er  !  "  I  should  like  to  duck  her  in  a  pond.  Miss  Fridoline 
says,  "  Hush,  Edith  ! "  but  not  with  authority ;  and  the 
child,  who  can't  be  very  sharp,  as  she  's  only  got  this  one 
idea  of  fun,  goes  on  in  a  sort  of  variation  on  the  theme, 
"  P'ggy>  W1'ggy>  squeaker,  Mister  Piggy wiggysqueaker." 
She  is  beneath  notice  ;  I  will  address  my  conversation, 
over  her  head  and  intelligence,  to  Miss  Fridoline.  I  begin, 
"Do  you  believe  in  sympathies  springing  up  between  two 
beings  for  the  first  time  ?  "  Miss  Fridoline  pauses  to  reflect. 
I  have  touched  the  chord.  The  odious  little  brat  cries  out 
to  me,  "  I  say,  when  are  you  going  away  ? "  I  tell  her, 


120  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

condescendingly,  that  I  do  not  know,  and  ask  her  if  she 
would  n't  be  very  sorry  to  lose  me  ?  Her  reply  is  not  in 
keeping  with  my  assertion  that  I  get  on  very  well  with  chil- 
dren :  it  is,  "No,  I  shall  be  very  glad.  You're  a  Mister 
Piggysqueaker."  The  child  has  picked  this  name  up  from 
somebody  else.  Perhaps  from  the  nurses  ;  perhaps  from 
Mrs.  Fraser.  Perhaps  the  whole  household  calls  me  Mister 
Piggysqueaker.  It 's  impossible  to  make  love  in  this  char- 
acter. I  almost  wish  I  'd  never  come  down.  That  was 
the  beauty  of  Boodels's  place :  there  were  no  horrid  chil- 
dren about ;  and  one  could  n't  fall  in  love  with  Milburd. 

In  the  Hot- House.  —  The  gardener  gives  us  some  beautiful 
peaches.  Miss  Fridoline  offers  me  one.  I  accept  it  from 
her,  and  begin  to  eat  it.  The  infernal  child  says,  "  O,  what 
a  mouth  !  "  I  wonder  if  my  mouth  is  so  very  large.  Chil- 
dren often  speak  the  truth  unintentionally.  I  must  be 
careful  how  I  open  it  when  laughing.  I  take  the  oppor- 
tunity afforded  by  the  necessity  of  wiping  my  hands  to  use 
my  pocket-handkerchief.  The  child  gets  hold  of  the  other 
end  and  tries  to  pull  it  away  from  me.  Miss  Fridoline  does 
not  reprove  her.  Tenderness  is  out  of  the  question.  I 
loiter  behind  with  the  gardener,  and  hear  him  talk  about 
mushrooms.  I  could  almost  weep  on  his  shoulder.  I  sup- 
pose I  must  look  unhappy,  as  he  observes,  "  He  thought 
that  peach  as  I  was  eating  warn't  a  very  ripe  un."  He 
takes  me  to  the  mushroom-house.  It  is  damp  and  tomby. 
I  feel  that  I  have  nothing  to  live  for,  and  should  like  to  stop 
here  among  the  mushrooms.  Epitaph :  "  Here  lies  Mr- 
Piggysqueaker,  among  the  Mushrooms."  The  gardener  is 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  121 

waiting  for  me,  with  the  key  in  his  hand.  I  come  out. 
Miss  Fridoline  and  the  abominable  child  have  disappeared. 
I  return  to  the  house.  I  will  leave  this  place  to-morrow. 
I  ask  where  Mr.  Fraser  is.  I  want  male  society.  He  is  in 
the  cellar  arranging  a  bin.  He  always  is,  during  the  day- 
time, in  the  cellar.  To  my  work  :  I  have  been  wasting  my 
time.  I  will  go  to-morrow  morning.  I  sit  down  to  work. 
The  butler  enters.  He  looks  very  serious.  "  A  police- 
man," he  informs  me,  "  wants  to  see  me."  A  policeman  ! 
It  can't  be  that  window  affair  last  night.  "  Show  him  in." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

I    RECEIVE    A    SUMMONS.  —  A    CONSULTATION. —  I    LEAVE 
FURZE    COTTAGE    ON    IMPORTANT    BUSINESS. 


POLICEMAN  to  see  me  :  show  him  in.  Hith- 
erto a  policeman  has  been  considered  by  me  as 
a  bugbear  for  children  and  a  terror  to  the  lower 
orders.  He  is  shown  in,  and  is  evidently  not 
at  his  ease.  I  try  to  think  of  historical  examples  of  any- 
body receiving  the  officers  of  justice  in  a  dignified  manner. 
I  ask  him,  blandly,  "  Well,  policeman,  what 's  the  mat- 
ter ?  "  He  replies,  "  This  here,"  and  hands  me  this  printed 
paper :  — 

"  Whereas  you  have  this  day  been  charged  upon  oath  before  the  under- 
signed, one  of  the  Magistrates  of  the  Police  Court  of  the  town  of  Dornton, 
sitting  at  the  Town  Hall  of  Dornton,  in  the  county  of  Dampshire,  and  within 
the  Boddington  Police  District,  for  that  you,  on  the  i6th  day  of  September 
instant,  at  the  parish  of  Little  Boddington,  in  the  county  of  Dampshire,  and 
within  the  said  district,  did  unlawfully  assault  and  threaten  and  beat  one  George 
Cornelius  Pennefather,  whereby  the  said  George  Cornelius  Pennefather  goes  in 
fear  for  his  life, 

"  These  are  therefore  to  command  you,  in  her  Majesty's  name,  to  be  and 
appear  before  me,  on  the  ist  of  October  next,  at  n  o'clock  in  the  forenoon,  at 
the  Police  Court  aforesaid,  or  before  such  other  Magistrate  of  the  said  Police 
Court  as  may  then  be  there,  to  answer  to  the  said  charge,  and  to  be  further 
dealt  with  according  to  law. 

"  Given  under  my  hand  and  seal,"  &c.,  &c. 

"  MORGAN  JAMES  BULLYKR." 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  123 

Good  Heavens  !  Where  's  Dornton  ?  Where  's  Bod- 
dington  ?  Who  on  earth  is  George  Cornelius  Pennefather? 
I  tell  the  official,  then  and  there,  that  I  never  beat,  or  as- 
saulted, or  threatened,  any  one.  He  says,  "  He  ain't  got 
nothing  to  do  with  it ;  it 's  forwarded  from  the  other  county 
district."  He  adds,  as  a  formula,  that  "  anythink  as  I  say 
now  is  safe  to  be  used  agen  me  at  my  trial,"  and  goes  out 
with  the  butler.  "  In  her  Majesty's  name !  "  I  wish  I 
was  a  Magistrate. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Refer  to  my  diary.  It  was  on  that 
day,  I  find,  that  I  tried  to  get  the  repartee  out  of  the  rail- 
way porter,  and  there  was  a  disturbance  in  the  Station.  I 
suppose  the  porter's  name  is  Pennefather.  Why,  I  'd  for- 
gotten all  about  it :  Pennefather  had  n't,  though.  He  's 
been  going  about  in  fear  for  his  life  ever  since  :  Pennefather 
must  be  a  fool.  "  To  be  further  dealt  with  according  to 
law."  Don't  understand  it.  I  '11  run  down  to  see  what 
Fraser  says  to  it. 

Happy  Thought.  —  N.  B.     Anyhow,  consult  a  solicitor. 

Fraser 's  in  the  cellar,  arranging  his  bins,  as  usual.  From 
the  top  of  the  stairs  I  shout,  "  I  say,  Fraser  !  "  and  then  his 
voice  comes  up  suddenly  from  the  cellar,  "  Hallo  !  "  like  a 
ventriloquist's.  I  say  to  him,  still  from  the  top  of  the  cellar 
steps,  "What  shall  I  do  in  this  case  ?"  He  answers,  "  Is 
there  another  up  there?"  being  under  the  impression  that 
I  am  alluding  to  wine. 

I  explain,  coming  down  five  steps  to  do  so,  and  Fraser 


124  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

listens  while  putting  away  some  curious  old  Madeira 
When  I  've  finished,  I  ask  him  what  I  shall  do  ?  He  replies 
immediately,  "  Dine  at  six,  sharp."  "  Yes,"  I  say,  "  and 
after  dinner  I  '11  go  up  by  the  last  train  to  town,  and  see  my 
solicitor  in  the  morning." 

Fraser  agrees  with  me,  and  as  I  come  up  the  stairs,  Cap- 
tain Talboots  and  a  Mr.  Minchin,  who  was  at  the  party  the 
other  night,  come  to  make  a  call  of  ceremony.  Mrs. 
Fraser  can't  receive  them,  being  still  unwell,  so  I  call  down 
to  Fraser,  and  announce  them.  He  replies,  from  below, 
just  like  the  ventriloquist's  man  in  a  cellar,  "  All  right,  I  '11 
come  up  directly."  I  tell  Talboots  about  the  summons. 
He  is  bellicose,  and  says,  "  If  he  was  me,  hanged  if  he  'd  pay 
any  attention  to  it.  Blessed  if  he  would  n't  go  and  punch  the 
infernal  Magistrate's  head."  I  point  out  to  him  that  this 
would  hardly  clear  me  of  a  charge  of  assault. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Note,  while  I  think  of  it.  I  will  take 
lessons  in  boxing  :  -capital  exercise.  Gives  you  such  a  quick 
good  eye  :  and  such  a  bad  eye  occasionally.  See  about  it, 
after  my  solicitor. 

Minchin,  who  is  a  young  barrister,  wants  to  hear  the  case 
in  full.  Fraser  joins  us,  and  listens,  with  Talboots,  like  a 
couple  of  jurymen.  Minchin  appears  in  several  characters, 
during  my  story  ;  but  first,  as  the  judge,  with  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  his  legs  apart,  and  his  head  very  much  on  one 
side,  like  a  raven.  I  feel,  while  I  am  telling  it,  that  I  am 
making  an  excellent  case  for  the  porter.  In  attempting  to 
be  unprejudiced,  I  catch  myself  knocking  over  my  own  de- 


HAP?Y   THOUGHTS.  125 

fence  and  strengthening  Pennefather's  position.  On  finish- 
ing, I  don't  seem  to  have  put  matters  in  a  very  brilliant 
light,  as  far  as  I  'm  concerned.  Fraser  and  Talboots  look 
to  Minchin.  Minchin,  in  the  character  of  prosecutor's 
counsel,  examines  me.,  as  if  on  my  oath.  On  the  whole,  I 
begin  to  wish  I  had  n't  mentioned  anything  about  it  to  Min- 
chin. 

Happy  Thought.  —  In  recounting  your  own  grievances 
never  try  to  be  unprejudiced.  No  one  gives  you  credit  for 
candor. 

"  Now,"  says  Minchin,  for  the  prosecution  this  time, 
"  Did  you,  or  did  you  not,  strike  this  railway  official  ?  "  I 
hesitate,  and  Minchin  repeats  the  question  emphatically. 
I  answer,  "  No,  I  did  not  strike  him."  Mincnm  repeats, 
as  if  to  show  Fraser  and  Talboots  what  a  clever  chap  he 
was  to  get  that  admission  from  me.  "  No,  you  aid  not 
strike  him,"  and  then  goes  on,  evidently  enjoying  it,  "  And 
now,  sir,  let  me  ask  you,  did  you  or  did  you  not  touch  him  ? " 
I  admit  I  did.  Minchin  is  calmly  triumphant,  repeating, 
"  You  did,"  whereat  Fraser  and  Talboots,  in  their  imper- 
sonation of  jurymen,  shake  their  heads.  Minchin  con- 
tinues, "  Did  you  or  did  you  not  call  this  railway  official  a 
fool  ? "  I  can't  help  it,  I  'm  obliged  to  admit  that  I  did. 
Jury  dead  against  me.  Minchin  now  as  the  judge,  having 
evidently  abandoned  any  idea  of  appearance  as  counsel  for 
the  defence,  sums  up  carefully.  Somehow  or  another  Min- 
chin's  opinion  suddenly  appears  most  valuable  to  me,  and 
I  listen  anxiously. 


126  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Minchin  says  :  "  You  touched  him  ;  lightly  or  heavily, 
no  matter ;  the  fact  stands  that  you  touched  him.  If  you 
had  no  weapon  in  your  hand,  yet  you  touched  him.  The 
porter  was  an  unarmed  man  ;  you  own  that  you  had  an  um- 
brella, and  you  are  not  sure  that  you  did  not  touch  him 
with  that."  I  shake  my  head.  "  Be  that  as  it  may,  you 
touched  him,  and  that  touch  was  an  incitement  to  him  to 
riot.  It  is  no  defence  to  say,  '  I  touched  him  gently  on  the 
shoulder.'  The  question  is,  whether  you  could  have  touched 
him  roughly  in  the  position  you  were  placed  in,  that  is,  from 
the  window  of  the  railway  carriage  ?  But  the  law  deals  with 
intentions,  and  judges  of  the  intentions  both  by  words  and 
deeds.  Now,  you  accompanied  this  blow "  (I  deprecate 
the  use  of  "  blow,"  and  he  substitutes  "  touch,"  as  if  it 
really  didn't  make  any  difference)  —  "you  accompanied 
this  blow,  or  touch,  with  the  opprobrious  epithet  of  '  Fool.' 
Now  the  law  having  regard  to  the  liberty  of  the  subject, 
and  being  no  respecter  of  persons,  will  not  allow  any  man 
to  go  about,  touching,  or  blowing,  his  fellow-citizens,  lightly 
or  heavily,  and  calling  them  fools.  No,"  continues  Min- 
chin, discarding  the  Judge,  and  appearing  finally  as  a  pri- 
vate friend,  "  I  'm  afraid  it  's  a  nasty  case."  I  own  I  think 
so  too.  I  put  it  thus,  "  If  he  says  I  did,  and  I  can't  say 
I  did  n't,  what  defence  am  I  to  make  ? "  I  don't  see. 
Minchin  considers  :  Fraser  is  perplexed.  Captain  Talboots 
says,  with  a  laugh,  "  O,  you  sing  '  The  Little  Pig  squeaked'' 
to  the  Magistrate,  and  he  '11  let  you  off."  His  levity  is  ill- 
timed.  They  smile  out  of  compliment,  but  the  joke  is 
a  failure.  Minchin  says,  "Well,  he  must  be  off."  TaJ- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  127 

boots  says,  "  He  must  be  off  too."  Talboots  has  nothing 
new  to  suggest ;  he  can  only  repeat,  "  Punch  the  Magis- 
trate's head." 

Happy  Thought.  —  They  are  off". 

Dinner,  6.  —  Melancholy.  Fraser  thinks  it  good  taste  to 
joke  about  "  the  prisoner  sat  down  to  his  usual  meal,  of 
which  he  partook  heartily."  On  my  telling  him  how  much 
I  have  enjoyed  my  stay  here,  hoping  that  he  'd  re-invite  me 
(O  Fridoline  !)  he  replies,  jocosely,  "  The  prisoner  ex- 
pressed himself  sincerely  grateful  to  Mr.  Jonas,  the  Gov- 
ernor of  Newgate,  for  all  his  kindness."  My  train  goes  at 
nine  ;  at  half  past  eight  I  hear  music  in  the  drawing-room. 
I  find  out  that  it's  Miss  Fridoline,  who's  been  dining  up 
stairs  with  Mrs.  Fraser.  A  fly  at  the  door.  Captain  Tal- 
boots arrives  with  his  cornet-a-piston  :  he  and  Miss  Fri- 
doline are  going  to  practise  a  duet.  He  offers  me  his  fly 
to  take  me  to  the  station  :  I  am  obliged  to  accept  it. 

I  go  in,  drearily,  to  wish  Miss  Fridoline  good  by.  She 
says,  "  O,  are  you  going  so  soon  ?  "  I  have  no  reply  ready, 
except  "Yes,  I'm  going  now."  Whereupon  she  returns 
my  adieu  with  the  addition  of  wishing  me  a  pleasant 
journey.  As  I  am  stepping  into  my  fly,  I  hear  the  piano 
and  cornopean  in  a  duet,  "  Yes,  we  together"  from  Norma. 
If  I  could  run  back,  burst  into  the  room,  jump  on  Talboots's 
back,  and  cram  his  cornopean  down  his  throat,  I  would  do 
it.  He  might  summon  me,  if  he  liked,  I  should  soon 
become  used  to  that.  Drive  on :  he  drives  on.  Furze 
Cottage  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 


128  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought,  or  rather  Unhappy  Thought,  —  An  op  - 
portunity  missed.  When  Fridoline  said  to  me,  "  Are  you 
going  away  so  soon  ? "  I  ought  to  have  returned  impres- 
sively, "  Soon  !  I  am  glad  to  hear,  that,  since  I  have  been 
here,  the  time  has  flown  so  fast.  It  will  appear  like  an  age 
to  me  before  I  see  you  again.  For,"  and  here  I  should 
have  taken  her  hand,  and  if  neither  Talboots,  nor  Fraser, 
nor  the  butler  were  looking,  I  might  have  kissed  it  fervently, 
saying,  as  I  relinquished  it,  "  Fridoline,  I  love  you !  " 
Then,  unable  to  utter  anything  more,  I  should  have  got 
into  my  fly  comfortably,  and  she  would  have  staggered  to 
the  sofa,  put  one  hand  on  the  back  and  another  on  her 
heart,  like  the  lady  in  Millais's  picture  of  "  Broken  Vows." 
Happy  Thought.  Suggest  this  to  an  artist.  View  of  me 
stepping  into  a  fly  in  the  distance.  I  wish  I  could  have 
those  minutes  over  again.  I  wonder  if  I  should  really  do 
what  I  think  I  should.  I  should  like  to  drive  back  and  try 
it.  No,  —  it  can't  be. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  prepare  one's  self  for  occasions  of 
this  sort.  I  '11  suppose  cases  as  I  go  up  in  the  train. 

Nine  o'clock.  —  Off  to  London  :  Addio,  Fridoline  and 
Furze. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

STILL  ON  URGENT  PRIVATE  AFFAIRS.  —  A  JUVENILE  SO- 
LICITOR.—  I  DIXE  WITH  MILBURD,  AND  SPEND  A  CON- 
VIVIAL EVENING. 

01  NG  up  in  the  Train  by  Night.  —  I  intend  to 
call  on  my  solicitor  about  this  assault  affair 
directly  I  get  to  town.  Think  I  'd  better  dismiss 
all  thoughts  of  it  from  my  mind.  Will  read 
paper.  Can't.  Light  in  carriage  so  bad.  At  the  first 
station  I  want  to  get  out  to  complain  to  Guard.  Can't : 
carriage  locked.  Passenger  gets  in  with  his  own  key,  and 
brings  with  him  a  private  railway  lamp :  most  useful.  Other 
passengers  get  in :  all  got  keys  and  lamps.  If  we  go  on 
like  this  we  shall  bring  our  own  cushions.  Last  man  did 
get  in  with  a  cushion.  The  next  thing  will  be  to  bring  your 
own  carriage. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  buy  a  railway  lamp. 

Can't  sleep,  on  account  of  the  blaze  of  light  in  my  eyes 
from  lamp  opposite.  Arrive  in  town  late.  Go  to  solicitor's. 
Shut  up.  To  hotel.  Get  up  early  to-morrow.  I  see  that 
I  'm  chalked  up  on  a  blackboard.  89.  7.30.  The  Boots  is 
satisfied  :  another  Boots  coming  by  accidentally  is  satisfied. 
Waiter  assures  me,  on  my  inquiring  anxiously,  that  if  I  gave 
the  Boots  my  instructions,  it  would  be  all  right. 

6*  I 


130  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Difficult  to  get  to  sleep.  Noise,  after  quiet  of  country, 
terrific. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Central  hotels  bad  for  going  to  sleep 
in.  Do  for  men  of  business,  though,  who  want  to  be  up 
early  in  the  morning  Bed. 

Morning.  —  Not  called  :  had  to  ring  the  bell  to  tell  them 
to  call  me.  Boots  says  he  did  n't  know  I  wanted  to  be 
called,  did  n't  see  it  on  the  blackboard.  A  different  Boots. 
J  refer  him  to  the  other  Boots  for  confirmation  ;  in  fact,  to 
the  other  pair  of  Boots.  He  does  n't  know  them :  he 
alludes  to  them  disdainfully,  as  the  Night  Porters. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Small  hotel 's  best :  where  the  Boots 
and  Night  Porters  are  on  friendly  terms.  Do  it  next  time. 

I  'm  very  late.  They  bring  me  number  ninety's  boots  ; 
and  number  seventy-five's  breakfast,  which  I  don't  like. 
More  delay.  Off  at  last  to  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  To  Seel's, 
my  solicitor's. 

On  the  door  is  a  brass  plate  with  Mr.  Seel  above,  and 
Mr.  Percival  Seel  below.  Who  Mr.  Percival  is  I  do  not 
know  ;  probably  Seel's  son  just  come  into  the  business.  I 
knock  and  ring. 

The  clerk  is  a  small  boy  with  a  large  forehead,  ready  for 
all  the  law  that 's  coming  into  it  one  of  these  days,  curly 
hair  which  won't  lie  down  under  any  pressure  of  pomatum, 
and  large  eyes,  which  wander  all  over  me. 

On  being  asked  if  Mr.  Seel  is  within,  he  replies,  "  No, 
he  's  not,"  in  an  uncertain  sort  of  manner,  which  leads  me 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  131 

to  suppose  that  he  is.  I  give  him  my  card.  He  looks  at  it, 
and  then  at  me,  as  if  unable  to  trace  any  connection  between 
my  name  and  my  appearance. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  note  that  to  be  brought  up  in  a  law- 
yer's office  makes  boys  suspicious.  He  evidently  does  n't 
believe  either  me  or  my  card. 

Boy  says,  "He's  not  in":  but  he  adds,  "you  can  see 
Mr.  Percival,  if  you  like."  He  speaks  of  them  as  if  they 
were  a  show.  I  ask  who  Mr.  Percival  is,  and  he  replies 
that  he  's  Mr.  Seel,  Junior,  which  he  evidently  thinks  is 
a  more  dignified  form  of  description  than  calling  him  Mr. 
SeePs  son.  I  consider.  Well,  yes,  I  will  see  Mr.  Seel, 
Junior.  I  am  shown  suddenly  into  Mr.  Seel,  Junior's, 
room.  Mr.  Seel,  Junior,  is  very  much  junior  to  Mr.  Seel, 
Senior. 

He  offers  me  a  seat  timidly.  He  says,  awkwardly,  that 
he  believes  my  business  is  with  his  father.  I  say  yes,  but 
I  suppose  he  '11  do  as  well.  He  evidently  detects  some 
hesitation  in  my  tone,  as  he  answers  boldly,  and,  to  my 
thinking,  defiantly  (as  though  if  his  father  did  come  in  he 
did  n't  care),  that,  "  O  yes,  it  would  be  precisely  the  same 
thing." 

I  tell  him  it's  a  very  simple  case,  whereat  I  fancy  he 
seems  more  at  his  ease.  I  suppose  he  can  advise  me.  He 
replies,  "  O  yes,  of  course."  But  he  does  n't  inspire  me 
with  confidence.  I  tell  him,  to  reassure  him,  I  've  known 
his  father  some  years,  which  seems  to  make  him  uncom- 
fortable. I  tell  my  story  very  carefully.  When  I  \e  fin- 


132  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

ished,  he  asks  me  to  tell  it  again.  I  do.  At  his  special 
request,  I  tell  it  once  more,  with  (I  can't  help  it)  variations, 
which  puzzle  him.  I  ask  him  what  I  shall  do.  He  appears 
confused,  and  thinks  ;  at  last,  he  says,  "  Well,  you  see,  I  've 
only  lately  come  into  the  office,  and  — "  (here  he  laughs 
nervously)  "  I  can't  exactly  advise  you  —  without  —  without 
. —  um  —  "  (here  he  loses  his  theme,  but  recovers  himself) 
"  without,  in  fact,  consulting  my  father."  Then  I  'd  better 
see  his  father  ?  "  Yes,"  he  says,  diffidently,  "  if  you  please." 
I  say  I  will,  whereat  he  is  much  relieved,  and,  so  to  speak, 
breathes  again.  I  must  see  his  father  to-night  —  most  im- 
portant—  at  eleven.  I  suggest,  at  all  events,  that,  having 
spent  one  hour  with  him  in  painstaking  narration,  Mr.  Per- 
cival  may  put  the  case  before  his  father.  I  don't  believe  he 
has  understood  a  word  of  what  I  've  been  saying,  as  he  re- 
plies, "  No,  you  'd  much  better  do  it  yourself." 

Happy  Thought.  —  What  a  dreadful  thing  it  would  be  to 
have  an  idiot  solicitor  ! 

Eleven  to-night,  punctually  !  Eleven.  Special  appoint- 
ment. I  note  it  down.  Good  by. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Nothing  to  do  in  London.  Dismiss 
all  thoughts  of  Pennefather's  assault  from  my  mind.  How 
shall  I  amuse  myself?  Go  to  Charing  Cross.  Stand  for 
ten  minutes  waiting  to  cross  the  road.  Don't  know  why  I 
should  cross  at  all,  having  no  object  in  reaching  the  other 
side,  except  to  come  back  again.  I  came  up  to  be  very 
busy  with  my  solicitor,  and  here  I  am  with  nothing  to  do. 
I  stroll  into  Bow  Street. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  133 

Happy  Thought. — Visit  the  Police  Court,  and  get  up  the 
forms  and  ceremonies,  so  that  when  I  have  to  appear,  if  I 
ever  have,  before  a  Magistrate,  I  may  know  when  it 's  my 
turn  to  speak,  and  when  to  be  silent.  Go  into  what  I  take 
to  be  the  Police  Court.  Am  asked  what  I  want  by  two 
policemen.  They  are  civil,  but  suspicious.  I  won't  go  in  : 
I  will  dismiss  all  these  thoughts  from  my  mind.  I  find 
myself  continually  dismissing  these  thoughts. 

Drop  into  my  club.  Letter  waiting  for  me  from  Childers 
at  the  Feudal  Castle.  Will  I  come  down  when  I  like,  only 
telegraph.  I  will,  when  this  business  is  over.  This  busi- 
ness —  no,  I  said  I  would  dismiss  these  thoughts  from  my 
mind,  and  I  will.  But  I  must  answer  him.  Not  necessa- 
rily. I  can  wait  until  I  know  if  I  am  free  to  ....  Dismiss 
thoughts  again  for  the  third  time  within  ten  minutes. 

In  St  James's  Street.  Somebody  slaps  me  on  the  back 
and  says  "  Hallo  !  What  brings  you  to  town  ? "  It  is 
Milburd.  I  dislike  Milburd  at  Boodels's,  but  when  you 
meet  him  in  town,  and  can't  get  any  one  else  to  talk  to, 
he 's  not  a  bad  fellow.  I  wish  he  would  n't  think  slapping 
on  the  back  a  sign  of  heartiness.  He  tells  me  afterwards 
that  he  considers  "  slapping  a  fellow  suddenly  on  the  back, 
when  he  does  n't  know  who  the  deuce  it  is,"  a  first-rate 
practical  joke.  I  don't  think  it  first-rate.  "  Well,"  he  puts 
it,  "  not  bad."  I  state  my  general  objection  to  all  practical 
jokes.  He  agrees  with  me,  excepting  slapping  on  the  back. 
I  give  in  on  this  point,  not  liking  to  be  obstinate,  and  suffer 
for  it,  as  he  's  always,  being  with  me  for  two  hours  in  the 
da\ ,  trying  to  take  me  by  surprise.  I  tell  him  my  case.  He 


134  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

sympathizes.  He  is  not  a  bad  fellow  when  you  know  him. 
He  says,  "  Look  here,"  I  avoid  his  slap,  and  he  goes  on 
somewhat  disappointed,  "come  and  dine  with  me  this  even- 
ing. Dismiss  all  thoughts  of  your  trial," —  I  don't  like  his 
way  of  speaking  of  it,  but  his  idea  is  the  same  as  mine  about 
dismissing  the  thoughts,  —  "  and  spend  a  quiet  evening.  I  '11 
give  you  dinner  at  my  club."  I  tell  him  that  I  'm  not  in  the 
humor  for  a  dinner-party.  He  informs  me  that  it 's  no  din- 
ner-party, only  Byrton  of  the  Fusileers.  I  repeat,  "  O,  only 
Byrton  of  the  Fusileers,"  as  if  his  presence  was  nothing  at 
all ;  though  I  've  never  seen  him  in  my  life.  Milburd  says, 
"  Yes,  that 's  all :  say  6.30  Bradshaw." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  note  down  engagements.  I 
am  noting  this.  Milburd  (he  is  an  ass  sometimes)  says 
"  Good  by,  old  boy,"  and  slaps  me  on  the  shoulder.  I  am 
inclined  to  be  annoyed,  but  he  laughs,  and  cries  out,  "  An- 
other practical  joke,  eh  ?  "  so  I  can't  be  angry.  Besides, 
he  has  asked  rne  to  dinner. 

He  comes  back  for  one  minute,  to  ask  me  "  if  I  think  that 
bonneting  a  fellow,  knocking  a  hat  right  over  his  eyes,  is  a 
good  practical  joke,  eh  ?  "  I  treat  the  notion  with  contempt, 
as  beneath  such  a  man  as  Milburd.  I  think  this  is  the  best 
way  of  stopping  him,  by  representing  such  conduct  as  un- 
worthy of  him,  or,  if  I  don't,  he  might  crush  mine  in  :  he  's 
just  the  sort  of  fellow  to  do  it.  "  Full  of  animal  spirits,"  his 
friends  say.  It's  a  nuisance  if  you're  not  full  of  animal 
spirits  at  the  same  time.  Go  to  my  hotel.  Unpack  writing 
materials.  Try  to  do  something  in  Typical  Developments 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  135 

about  "  Spirits  of  Animals."  Think  of  Fridoline.  Think  if 
this  matter  ends  happily  ....  Dismiss  all  thoughts  of  this 
sort  from  my  mind.  Doze.  Hot  water.  Dress  to  go  to 
Milburd's  Club. 

He  introduces  me  to  Byrton  of  the  Fusileers.  He  is 
friends  with  me  in  five  minutes,  and  is  telling  us  in  a  half- 
whisper,  with  his  head  well  forward  towards  the  soup-tureen, 
something  "  which  of  course,"  he  knows  "  won't  go  beyond 
this  table." 

Byrton  can  tell  us  curious  circumstances  about  every 
one.  If  we  talk  of  the  Great  Mogul,  he  is  ready  with  a 
curious  circumstance  about  him,  of  course  entre  nous ! 
Milburd  and  I  are  perpetually  swearing  ourselves  to  secrecy 
all  through  the  dinner.  Trying  to  note  down  (privately  out- 
side the  door)  one  of  his  remarkable  anecdotes,  names  ex- 
cepted,  I  find  myself  making  rather  a  muddle  of  his  confi- 
dences. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Capital  wine,  Moselle  :  sparkling. 
Not  so  strong  as  champagne. 

We  dispute  this  point,  and  try  champagne.  I  note  down 
the  name  of  the  wine-merchant  Byrton  tells  us  something 
rather  curious  about  him.  It  is  decided  that  we  shall  re- 
turn to  the  Moselle.  I  must  keep  my  head  clear,  having 
to  see  my  solicitor  at  eleven.  Milburd  says,  "  O,  don't 
think  about  that,  now.  We  will  have  some  more  Moselle, 
or  champagne."  [On  referring  to  my  notes  in  the  morn- 
ing, which  I  made  as  opportunities  occurred  outside  the 
door,  I  find  the  names  of  several  wine-merchants  put  down 


136  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

as  "  Mr.  Moselle,"  and  "  Mr.  Champagne  Sparkling,"  and 
I  don't  know  quite  what  I  meant.]  The  dinner  goes 'on. 
So  does  the  Moselle. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  for  Moselle  at  my  club.  Ask 
Milburd  and  Byrton  to  dine  with  me.  [Referring  to  notes 
in  the  morning  can't  make  out  date.] 

They  accept.  We  accept  to  dine  also  with  Byrton ;  don't 
know  when.  The  room  is  getting  hot.  The  next  bottle  of 
Champagne  wants  more  icing.  Capital  wine  Champagne  : 
so 's  Moselle.  We  are  all  telling  good  stories  in  confi- 
dence, hoping  they  '11  go  no  farther  than  that  table,  like 
Byrton.  I  am  telling  good  stories  :  and  it  seems  to  me 
that  we  are  all  talking  together,  or  else  some  one  is  speak- 
ing very  loud.  Liquors.  I  say,  must  go  s'lic'tor.  Not 
time  yet.  Dismiss  thoughts.  Fine  Port. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Lay-in-stock-port.  We  're  talking 
Theol'gy.  Byrton  is  telling  us  something  cur'ous  'bout 
Arch'shop  Cranbury.  I  say  it  's  not  Cranbury.  Milburd 
agrees  —  me.  What  's  it  then  ?  Byrton  wants  —  know. 
"Arch'shop,"  I  tell  him,  "of  Crantierbrarry."  Smoking- 
room.  Don't  like  going  up  stairs.  Come  down  'gain. 
Time  go  s'lic'tor.  Cab. 

Happy  TJwtght  in  Cab.  —  'Stake  fking  port  a'f 'er  Mam- 
selle  :  mean  M'selle.  Think  I  've  had  'nough.  Sh'  like 
biscuit :  and  water.  Very  soon  at  s'lic'tor's.  Very.  Seel 
Sen'r  in.  Come  talk :  ser'ous  mat'r  :  'sault.  Seel  wants- 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  137 

know  pericklers.     I  've  f'gott'n  p'ricklers :  ask  Pen'fath'r. 
He  thinks   I  'd  bet'r  call   morn'g.    Very  hot  in  's   room. 

While  tell'ng  p'ricklers  refer'n  notes  ....  sleepy 

Hotel.  —  Think  it  's  'tel.  S'lic'tor  still  here  :  somehow. 
Can't  make  him  un'stand.  Stupid.  *  *  *  *  So  's  the 
waiter  *  *  *  *  Stupid  ....  won't  un'stand  *  *  *  *  very 
sleepy.  *  *  *  *  The  weather  *  *  *  *  odd  weather  *  *  *  * 
trouble  undressin'. 

Happ  Th-ght.  —  Go  to  bed  in  my  boots.  *  *  *  * 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

NEXT  MORNING.  —  THE  BIRDS.  —  LONDON  STREETS.  —  AN 
INVITATION.  —  THEATRE.  —  A  MUSIC  HALL.  —  A  LUNCH- 
EON. —  A  SERMON. 

ON'T  know  how  I  got  to  bed  last  night.  Odd 
that  I  should  forget  to  wind  up  my  watch.  I 
find,  from  my  notes  of  the  previous  evening, 
that  I  did  go  to  see  my  solicitor.  Can't  tell 
from  them,  as  they  're  so  indistinctly  written,  whether  he 
advised  me.  I  think  he  advised  me  to  go  to  bed.  Don't 
feel  at  all  well  to-day.  It's  the  weather:  and  when  the 
weather  is  unhealthy,  it  does  n't  do  to  mix  Champagne, 
Sherry,  Moselle,  and  Port.  Horrid  weather.  Might  write 
a  short  chapter  in  Vol.  VI.  of  Typical  Developments,  "  On 
Influences." 

I  am  rather  hazy  as  to  what  I  did  to  my  solicitor  last 
night.  I  hope  I  did  n't  hurt  him.  I  have  got  some  sort  of 
notion  that  I  wanted  him  to  dance.  However,  he  's  a  man 
of  the  world,  and  knows  that,  if  it 's  at  all  unhealthy  weather, 
or  if  you  are  a  little  out  of  order,  or  not  quite  the  thing,  one 
so  easily  gets  upset  by  a  single  glass  of  wine,  and  then  you 
become  excited  in  conversation,  and  do  some  stupid  things 
which  in  cold  blood  you  would  not  do.  Of  course,  in  cold 
blood  one  would  not  dance  with  one's  solicitor. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  139 

Happy  Thought.  —  Better  call  on  him,  and  make  it  all 
right.  Bring  him  some  game  from  the  country.  Sort  of 
little  attention  he  'd  like. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Buy  the  game  as  I  go  along.  Grouse. 
Without  telling  him  a  positive  untruth,  I  will  give  him  to 
understand  that  I  shot  them  myself. 

With  Mr.  Seel,  Senior.  —  He  hears  my  story.  No  allu- 
sion to  last  night,  except  on  my  part.  He  appears  to  have 
forgotten  it  entirely.  I  wonder  if  he  'd  been  dining  too. 
I  've  got  a  great  mind  to  ask  him  whether  he  wanted  to 
dance  with  me,  or  I  with  him.  I  won't.  He  says  he'll 
settle  this  assault  case  and  Pennefather  into  the  bargain. 
Finding  that  this  is  an  easy  matter,  I  suggest  retaliation. 
Can't  I  bring  an  action  against  the  Company  ?  He  asks, 
what  for  ?  I  tell  him  that  I  suppose  he  knows  this  better 
than  I  do.  I  'm  to  hear  from  him  in  a  couple  of  days  ;  this 
is  Saturday  —  say  Monday  evening.  Conversation.  I  tell 
him  where  I  've  been.  He  asks  me  if  I  've  had  any  shoot- 
ing yet  ?  I  say  "  No."  Remembering  the  birds  in  the 
passage,  I  add,  "  Nothing  to  speak  of."  On  leaving,  I 
present  him  with  the  grouse.  He  remarks,  that  he  did  n't 
understand  me  to  say  I  'd  been  to  the  moors.  I  tell  him 
that  I  have  n't ;  and  he  replies,  "  O,  indeed  !  "  and  smiles. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  study  of  law  engenders  a  habit 
of  suspicion.  But  I  ought  to  have  asked,  when  I  bought 
the  game,  where  these  sort  of  things  are  shot.  I  thought 
all  birds  got  into  turnip-fields  :  and  turnip-fields  are  every- 


14°  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

where.  Seel  asks  me  if  the  birds  are  very  shy  this  year. 
I  answer,  in  an  offhand  manner,  "  No,  not  very  shy :  at 
least,  I  did  n't  find  'em  so,"  as  if  they  made  an  exception 
in  my  case,  as,  indeed,  they  might  have  done  if  I  'd  had  a 
gun.  I  must  take  up  shooting  and  hunting  this  winter. 
Can't  help  thinking  of  Fridoline.  I  should  like  to  appear 
before  her  one  morning  in  a  red  coat,  buckskin  breeches, 
and  brown  tops,  and  wave  my  hand  to  her  as  I  gallop  away 
on  my  bright  chestnut 

Happy  Thought.  —  Buy  a  horse  for  the  winter:  not  too 

high- 
Nothing  to  do  in  London.  Walk  about.  Inspect  small 
streets  near  Leicester  Square.  Useful  to  know  London. 
One  street  smells  as  if  all  the  inhabitants  were  preparing 
to  dine  off  onions.  Walk  about.  Think  I  '11  get  my  hair 
cut.  Stop  to  look  at  a  wheel  turning  round  in  a  shop 
window.  Feel  myself  fascinated  by  it.  Small  crowd  look- 
ing on.  Every  one  apparently  fascinated.  Wonder  what 
the  other  people  see  in  it.  Ask  a  respectable  elderly  person 
what  it 's  for.  He  does  n't  know.  I  ask  another.  He 
laughs,  and  doesn't  know.  Now,  I  '11  go  and  get  my  hair 
cut.  Walk  on.  See  another  crowd  round  another  window. 
Wait  until  I  can  work  myself  to  the  front.  In  the  shop 
window  is  a  small  jet  of  water,  which  takes  up  a  little  gilt 
ball  with  it  as  it  rises.  Every  one  appears  pleased.  No- 
body offers  to  go  in  and  buy  it.  Having  seen  it  for  four 
minutes,  I  experience  no  sort  of  inclination  towards  walk- 
ing into  the  shop  to  purchase  it.  Strange,  after  seeing  this, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  141 

I  feel  depressed.  Stop  to  look  at  a  man  with  a  bird- 
whistle. 

Happy  Thought,  —  Get  my  hair  cut.  Meet  Chesterton. 
Have  n't  seen  Chesterton  for  years.  He  has  lately  become 
a  clergyman.  Quite  lately.  His  manner  is  subdued  and 
gentle,  and  I  should  think  he  intends  it  to  be  winning.  He 
asks  me,  sorrowfully,  to  lunch  with  him  to-morrow  (Sunday). 
I  accept.  He  informs  me  that  two  friends  of  his,  whom  I 
know,  are  coming  —  Huxley  and  Wright.  They  are  coming 
to  hear  him  preach  his  first  sermon,  in  the  afternoon,  after 
luncheon.  He  must  leave  me  now,  he  says,  having  to  write 
his  discourse.  He  smiles  sadly  and  seems  to  glide  away. 
Too  late  to  have  my  hair  cut  to-day.  Something  to  do  for 
Monday. 

Saturday  Evening.  —  Dinner  alone  at  the  Club.  Don't 
know  anybody.  Read  newspaper :  that  is,  try  to.  Find 
myself  reading  the  same  lines  over  and  over  again.  After- 
wards, I  write  to  my  solicitor,  and  ask  how  he 's  getting  on. 
Don't  know  what  to  do  with  myself.  Will  go  to  the  theatre. 
Come  in  at  the  end  of  a  farce.  Comic  man  in  red  check 
trousers  is  saying,  "  So,  after  all,  Maria,  it  was  not  you." 
Roars  of  laughter.  Allusion  to  a  bracelet.  More  laughter. 
Wonder  what  it  was  about.  Ask  a  gentleman  sitting  next 
me.  He  informs  me  that  it's  just  over.  I  say  I  know  that, 
but  he  is  sulky,  and  goes  out  as  the  curtain  comes  down. 
I  don't  think  he  treads  upon  my  toes  by  accident.  Wish  I 
hadn't  come.  In  the  lobby  I  meet  Milburd.  Capital  man 
to  fall  in  with  in  town.  Knows  everybody. 

As  a  piece  of  news  he  tells  me  that  "  Old  Boodels  is  going 


142  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

to  drag  the  pond  next  Monday.  What  do  I  say  to  coming 
down."  I  reply,  "  Yes,  by  all  means,  but,"  not  to  make 
myself  too  cheap,  "  I  'm  afraid  I  've  got  an  engagement."  I 
own  I  can  manage  to  put  it  off.  I  don't  tell  him  that  it 's 
only  to  have  my  hair  cut,  which  I  forgot  to-day.  Capital. 
Not  having  a  bill,  I  ask  him  to  point  out  any  celebrities. 
He  asks  me  do  I  know  Phelps.  I  do  by  reputation.  Odd, 
until  Milburd  showed  him  to  me,  I  had  always  thought  he 
was  a  tragedian,  and  here  he  is  with  a  red  nose  and  a  red 
wig,  dancing  a  sort  of  double  shuffle,  and  singing  something 
about  being  "  a  magnificent  brick,  my  boys,  my  boys,  for 
I  "  —  meaning  himself,  Mr.  Phelps  —  "  I  'm  a  magnificent 
brick  ! "  As  Milburd  has  heard  it  all  before,  and  as  I  've 
not  long  to  stay  in  town,  I  ask  him  to  take  me  somewhere. 
We  go  to  a  Music  Hall.  Miss  Emily  Montacute  is  obliging 
the  company  with  another  song.  She  has  a  weak  voice,  but 
does  a  great  deal  with  her  right  eye,  and  her  hand.  The 
audience,  who  are  taking  refreshments  and  tobacco,  join 
in  the  choruses  enthusiastically,  being  principally  incited 
thereto  by  the  chairman,  who  applauds  everything  by  ham- 
mering upon  the  table,  and  announces,  after  every  song, 
good  or  bad,  encored  or  not  encored,  that  Mister,  or  Miss, 
or  Mrs.,  as  the  case  may  be,  "  will  sing  again."  He  amuses 
me.  No  one  else  does.  The  chairman  recognizes  Milburd 
on  his  entering,  and  condescends  to  wink  at  him  as  he  passes 
to  his  seat.  Immediately  after  this  he  raps  sharply,  as 
though  to  recall  himself  to  a  sense  of  his  dignified  position. 
A  man  comes  on  in  an  absurd  dress  with  a  tall  hat,  and 
sings  something  about  "  his,  or  her,  being  a  cruel  deceiver, 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  143 

with  his  (the  singer's)  diddlecum  doddlecum  doddlecum 
doodlecum  diddlecum  day."  The  tune  is  catching,  and  I 
find  myself  humming  it.  Milburd,  who  does  n't  at  all  un- 
derstand the  depth  of  my  character,  suggests  that  I  should 
turn  my  Typical  Developments  into  a  Comic  Song,  and  do 
it  at  a  Music  Hall,  with  a  good  chorus.  He  says,  "  Look 
here,  capital  idea,  chorus, '  with  my  Typical  Typical  Typical 
Typical  toodlecum  ti.' "  I  smile,  but  do  not  encourage 
him.  We  leave :  I  with  a  headache.  Before  parting,  I 
inform  him  of  my  engagement  to-morrow  with  the  Rev. 
Edward  Chesterton.  It  appears  that  Milburd  knows  him. 
I  tell  him  that  it 's  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  sermon. 
Milburd  cries  out,  "What  a  lark  !  I  '11  come,"  — and  then 
sings,  "  w*th  my  Typical  Typical  Typical  toodlecum  " 
but  here  I  stop  him,  and  say,  not  priggishly,  that  it 's  not  a 
thing  to  joke  about.  To  which  he  replies,  "  No,  this  here 
ain't  a  Comic  Song,  am  it  ? "  We  part  good  friends  (with 
the  exception  that  I  don't  like  his  going  on  singing  with  my 
Typical  toodlecum),  which  is  all  very  well  for  once  and 
away;  but  palls  upon  you  very  soon.  Though  on  the 
whole  I  wish  I  'd  not  told  him  about  Chesterton. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  to  bed. 

Sunday.  —  Luncheon  with  Chesterton.  Rather  heavy, 
being  his  dinner.  Huxley  and  Wright  are  old  College 
friends  of  his.  Their  reminiscences  are  hardly  fitted  to  the 
occasion,  being  of  Beefsteak  Club  dinners,  wild  drives  to 
Newmarket,  Loo  parties,  and  one  great  one  about  bonneting 
the  porter  of  Chesterton's  College.  Chesterton  is  evidently 


144  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

uncomfortable.  After  luncheon,  which  finishes  about  2.30, 
they  smoke.  Chesterton  leaves  us  for  half  an  hour,  begging 
we  '11  make  ourselves  at  home.  Milburd  drops  in  and  soon 
makes  himself  ai  home.  I  try  to  draw  their  attention  to 
serious  topics.  Milburd,  who  will  make  a  jest  of  every- 
thing, calls  them  "  Serious  Toothpicks "  ;  and  the  two 
others,  who  are  becoming  stupid  and  sleepy,  laugh  at  him. 
The  Rev.  Chesterton  returns.  "  Will  we  come  now  ?  "  he 
asks  sadly,  as  if  he  was  taking  us  all  to  instant  execution, 
with  benefit  of  clergy.  We  will.  He  is  delighted,  he  says, 
to  see  Milburd.  Will  he  too  come  and  hear  his  poor  efforts  ? 
Milburd  answers  that  he  means  to  encore  him  if  it 's  very 
good.  Poor  Chesterton  smiles  with  melancholy  sweetness. 
He  evidently  means  to  be  winning. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  get  a  comfortable  seat  in  the  cor- 
ner of  the  pew.  Away  from  Milburd. 

Four  o'clock.  —  Note-book.  Milburd  is  seated  next  to 
me.  The  three  very  decorous.  Chesterton  is  in  the  pulpit. 
I  miss  the  text,  because  Milburd  will  make  such  a  noise 
blowing  his  nose,  and  the  two  others  cough.  People  set- 
tling themselves.  I  think  Chesterton  is  nervous.  He  looks 
towards  us,  and  Milburd  jogs  me  with  his  elbow.  I  frown. 
Sermon  proceeding.  Small  boy  in  front  of  me  keeps  look- 
ing round.  Frown  at  him.  Shake  my  head  reprovingly. 
Boy  laughs.  His  mother  angry.  Boy  cries,  and  points  at 
me.  Chesterton  sees  it,  but  goes  on  :  is  annoyed.  Milburd 
snores.  I  am  afraid  of  pinching  him.  Huxley,  who  is  in 
the  right-hand  corner,  has  succumbed  to  drowsiness,  and  is 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  145 

suddenly  awoke  by  his  head  coming  sharply  against  the  back 
of  the  pew.  Wright,  who  has  been  opening  and  shutting 
his  eyes  for  the  last  five  minutes,  gives  way  at  last  and  falls 
against  Milburd.  They  are  falling  against  one  another  like 
cards  that  won't  stand  upright.  I  wish  I  could  appear  as  if 
they  did  n't  belong  to  my  party.  Boy  is  looking  round  at  us 
and  grinning.  His  mother,  I  fancy,  must  be  deeply  inter- 
ested in  the  discourse,  as  she  does  n't  take  any  notice  of  him. 
I  try  to  avoid  his  eye. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  will  close  my  eyes  to  prevent  dis- 
tractions, and  listen  critically  to  Chesterton's  sermon.  I 
note  down  a  good  passage.  *  *  *  *  I  am  roused  by  the 
general  movement  of  the  congregation,  and  Milburd  whis- 
pering to  me,  "  O,  how  you  have  been  snoring ! " 

We  meet  Chesterton  coming  out  of  the  vestry  and  greet 
him  with  "  Excellent !  first-rate  !  just  the  right  length  !  " 
He  seems  pleased.  Wright  wants  him  to  publish  it.  So 
does  Huxley.  Milburd  turns  to  me  and  suggests  that  I 
might  throw  in  a  chorus  "  With  my  typical,  typical,  typical," 
£c.,  which  notion  I  repudiate. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Don't  think  I  shall  go  down  with  Mil- 
burd to  drag  the  pond  at  Boodels.  Does  n't  do  to  see  too 
much  of  Milburd.  Sha'  n't  be  at  home  when  he  calls,  and 
if  Seel  sends  to  say  Assault  case  settled,  I  shall  run  down 
at  once  to  the  Feudal  Castle. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Hair  cut  on  Monday.  No  dragging 
ponds. 

7  J 


CHAPTER    XX. 

MONDAY  IN  MY  HOTEL.  — OUT  OF  IT  AT  THE  HAIRCUTTER'S. 
—  THE  TELEGRAM.  —  OFF  TO  BOVOR.  —  I  ARRIVE  AT 
BECKENHURST. 

ULL :  no  news  from  solicitor.  Send  up  porter 
with  note  to  Seel  to  ask  how  's  the  matter  going 
on  ?  Lonely  place  a  hotel  when  you  don't  know 
anybody. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  to  the  bar  and  ask  for  letters. 

Happy  Thought  —  To  ask  for  letters  at  a  hotel  gives 
you  some  importance.  No  letters :  did  n't  expect  any. 
Porter  returns  :  Seel  not  in.  No  answer  :  provoking.  Go 
and  write  a  Chapter  for  Vol.  VIII.  Typical  Developments, 
on  "  Loneliness  in  Crowds."  Think  the  idea  's  been  done 
before  :  will  ask  some  one.  Won't  write  just  now.  Happy 
Thought.  —  Go  and  have  my  hair  cut. 

Man  who  cuts  it  wishes  to  know,  insinuatingly,  whether 
I  use  their  Bohemian  Balsam.  I  don't  like  hurting  his 
feelings,  but  am  obliged  to  say  that  I  do  not.  He  can 
recommend  it  strongly,  he  says,  and  wishes  to  "  put  up  a 
pot  for  me."  I  say  no,  not  to-day.  I  feel  that  I  am  in  his 
hands,  and  if  he  presses  it  very  much,  I  'm  done.  He  sup- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  147 

poses,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that  I  am  never  without  their 
Chloride  of  Caranthus.  I  answer,  in  an  off-hand  way,  that 
I  have  n't  used  any  of  it  lately,  though  I  don't  add  that  I  've 
never  heard  of  it  before.  Shall  he  put  me  up  a  couple  of 
bottles  ?  I  take  time  to  consider  :  as  if  this  was  a  difficult 
matter  to  decide.  I  answer  after  a  few  minutes.  "  Well  — 
no  —  not  to-day,"  whereupon  he  proposes  sending  it  to  me 
in  any  part  of  the  country. 

Happy  Thought.— To  tell  him  that  I  don't  like  the 
Chloride  of  Caranthus  :  that  will  settle  it  I  tell  him  :  it 
does  n't  settle  it.  He  is  astonished  to  hear  this  from  me, 
and  says,  "  Indeed  !  dear  me  !  "  quite  pityingly.  I  wonder 
if  he 's  taken  in.  He  tries  to  flatter  me  by  pretending  that 
he  recollects  how  I  like  my  hair  cut.  "  Not  very  short,  I 
think,"  he  says.  Humbug :  I  've  never  been  here  before. 
He  tells  me  that  some  gentlemen  do  prefer  the  Gelatinium ; 
perhaps,  he  inquires,  that  is  my  case,  perhaps  I  prefer  the 
Gelatinium.  On  my  saying,  dubiously,  "  No,"  he  proposes 
putting  up  a  bottle  of  each  to  try. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  be  decided  in  speaking  to  a 
hairdresser.  Say  boldly  that  you  don't  use  any  of  these 
things,  or  that  you  don't  want  anything  at  present. 

I  casually  praise  a  brush  whirled  about  my  head  by 
machinery,  and  he  offers  to  put  that  up  for  me,  machinery 
and  all,  I  suppose.  Nothing  easier,  he  explains.  Will  I 
have  my  head  washed  ?  I  answer,  "  Yes,"  adding  inad- 
vertently, "  I  have  not  had  that  done  for  some  weeks."  He 


148  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

seizes  upon  the  admission,  and  deduces  from  it  that  I  have 
none  of  their  Savonian  Bruilliantine.  I  have  not.  He  says 
decidedly  that  he  will  put  me  up  a  couple  of  bottles.  He  is 
actually  going  to  give  the  order  when  I  call  out,  "  No,  I 
won't."  A  little  more  and  I  should  lose  my  temper  al- 
together. He's  afraid  that  I  don't  use  their  Gelissiton 
Sphixiad  for  my  whiskers  and  mustache.  He  says  this  in 
a  tone  implying  that  I  may  expect  them  to  drop  off  at  once 
if  I  don't  adopt  his  remedy.  I  despise  myself  for  getting 
cross  with  a  hairdresser ;  but  one  is  entirely  in  his  power. 
You  can't  jump  up  and  run  away  with  the  apron  sort  of 
thing  round  your  neck.  He  is  very  officious  in  assisting 
me  with  my  coat  and  waistcoat :  his  hands  are  greasy,  but 
I  don't  like  to  hurt  his  feelings.  Won't  I  have  any  soaps, 
brushes,  combs  ?  can't  he  put  up  any  little  thing  for  me  ? 
toilet  bottles  ?  Eau-de-cologne,  scents  ?  Then  he  con- 
cludes, with  "  Nothing  more  to-day  ?  "  Whereupon  I  reply, 
as  blandly  as  I  can,  "  No,  thank  you,  nothing  more  to-day." 
He  bows  me  out. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Won't  go  there  again.  Ought  to  go 
to  a  dentist's.  Sha'  n't.  It  hurts  ;  and  I  might  be  laid  up 
with  a  swelled  face. 

Back  to  hotel.  Send  message  up  to  solicitor.  Ask  for 
letters  again.  None.  Porter  returns.  No  answer  from 
solicitor.  Odd.  Think  I  '11  write  to  Fraser.  In  his  letter 
send  a  passage  to  Miss  Fridoline.  Can't  send  her  "my 
love."  "  Kind  regards "  is  what  you  would  send  to  an 
elderly  lady.  I  '11  put  it  generally,  thus  :  "  Remember  me 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  149 

to  all  at  Furze."  Send  up  to  solicitor's,  for  the  third  time 
to-day.  Think  I  '11  take  a  walk.  As  I  go  out,  ask  for  let- 
ters. None.  I  appear  surprised  and  puzzled.  Don't  think 
the  Manageress  is  taken  in.  Solicitor  sends  answer :  — 
"  All  right.  You  can  go  away.  Send  me  your  address,  in 
case  of  an  accident.  Pennefather  withdraws." 
I  am  in  high  spirits.  Hang  Pennefather  ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  down  to  Bovor  Castle  at  once. 
Change  of  scene.  Telegraph  —  "  Coming  down.  Last  train. 
Dine  in  town.  No  answer." 

Splendid  invention,  telegraphing.  So  easily  done.  I  send 
a  line  :  in  an  hour's  time  Childers  will  get  it :  will  order  a 
trap  to  meet  me  by  last  train  :  prepare  supper,  fire,  bed  for 
me  :  and  everything  will  be  ready  for  my  arrival. 

Dine  at  my  Hotel.  —  Notice  character.  Patronizing  head- 
waiter,  who  keeps  on  catching  my  eye.  Officious  waiter,  who 
will  insist  upon  bringing  every  course  before  I  want  it,  and 
receiving  everything  before  I  've  quite  done.  One  man 
dining  alone  smiles  on  every  one,  as  if  he  'd  be  ready  to  drink 
or  eat  with  anyone  at  a  moment's  notice.  Another  bestows 
his  umbrella  carefully  away  in  a  corner  at  his  elbow,  as 
though  there  was  some  chance  of  its  raining  during  dinner- 
time, in  which  case  he  would  be  prepared.  A  third  calls  the 
waiters  by  their  Christian  names,  and  gets  served  quicker 
than  any  one  ;  whereat  others  (myself  included)  are  scowl- 
ing. The  head-waiter  whispers  to  him  the  best  cuts,  and 
keeps  him  alive  to  the  arrival  of  the  hottest  joint.  There  is 
another  unfortunate  man,  who  sits  down  at  the  same  time  as 
mvself,  and  apparently  asks  for  everything  they  have  n't  got, 


150  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

and  is  only  beginning  his  fish  as  I  am  finishing  my  dinner. 
Cab.     To  Station. 

Happy  Thought. — When  I  return  to  town,  to  learn  boxing. 
To  give  an  impertinent  cabman  one  on  the  nose,  or  in  the 
eye,  would  beat  repartees  all  to  nothing.  As  it  is,  I  have  to 
give  him  sixpence  over  his  fare  to  avoid  a  row. 

Ticket  for  Beckenhurst.  Nearest  station  for  Bovor  Castle. 
No  sleeping  this  time. 

Bright  night.  Carriage  shaky.  Hope  my  luggage  is  all 
right.  It  suddenly  flashes  across  me  that  I  don't  remember 
packing  up  my  sponge.  Wish  I  could  get  at  my  port- 
manteau, and  see.  No  good,  by  the  way,  if  I  could. 

Beckenhurst.  —  Luckily  some  one  in  the  carriage  tells  me 
it 's  Beckenhurst,  or  I  should  have  missed  it.  Get  out.  Very 
cold.  I  've  got  two  portmanteaus,  a  bag,  a  writing-desk,  and 
a  dressing-case.  I  tell  this  to  the  guard,  who  whistles,  and 
the  train  is  off.  I  find  my  luggage  on  the  platform.  Station- 
master  asks  for  my  ticket.  I  give  it  him.  Porter  asks  me 
where  I  'm  going  to.  I  say  "  Bovor  Castle,"  with  a  feeling 
that  there  's  something  wrong.  On  the  contrary,  all  right. 
Station-master  says,  politely,  "  O,  you  're  the  gentleman 
who  telegraphed  from  town  to  say  he  'd  be  down  by  last 
train."  I  am,  I  reply  graciously.  Station-master  runs  off 
to  look  after  two  or  three  other  tickets. 

To  telegraph  was  a  Happy  Thought  indeed.  The 
telegram  (I  say  to  myself)  has  arrived  :  old  Childers  has 
evidently  sent  a  trap  for  me,  prepared  supper,  and  all 
I  've  to  do  is  to  drive  to  Bover  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  enjoy  myself.  Good  fellow,  old  Childers.  The  train  is 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  IS1 

half  an  hour  late,  but  that  does  n't  matter,  as  the  telegram 
has  arrived.    Station-master  returns.    I  am  curious  to  know 
how  quickly  that  telegraphic  message  travelled.     "  When," 
I  ask  him,  in  the  greatest  good-humor,    "  did   you  get  it 
here  ?  "     "  Well,"  replies  the  Station-master,  "  the  fact  is, 
the  line  was  a  little  out  of  order."     "  Ah,  I   see,  it  did  n't 
come  as  quickly  as  usual;  well,  at  all  events,  it  came." 
"  O  yes,"  continues  the  Station-master,  slowly,  "  it  came  ; 
but  they  sent  it  to  Brighton  first"     "  To  Brighton  !  "  I  ex- 
claim.    "  Why  ?  "     The  Station-master  says   he   does  n't 
know  why  to  Brighton,  as  they  need  n't  have  done  that. 
"  Well,"  I  ask,  "  when  did  you  get  it,  then  ?  "     [I  think  to 
myself  it  is  a  wonderful  thing  this  telegraphing :  here  a 
message  goes  by  mistake  fifty  or  sixty  miles  out  of  the  way, 
and  it  makes  hardly  any  difference  after  all.     Wonderful  !  ] 
He  answers,  "  Well,  sir,  it  did  n't  come  till  very  late."     I 
begin  to  be  nervous.    "  But,"  I  inquired,  "  you  sent  it  on  to 
Mr.  Childers,  at  Bovor  ?  "     "  Well,  no,  I   did  n't,"  he  re- 
plies.   "  Not !  "  I  exclaim.    "  But,  good  heavens  !  here  I  've 
come  from    London  on   purpose-  to  —  to  —  to  —  to  go  to 
Bovor  —  "     I  am  aware  of  the  climax  not  being  powerful, 
but  proceed,  angrily,  "  — and  had  settled  everything  —  and 
—  hang  it —  I  telegraphed  on  purpose  that  there  might  be 
no  inconvenience.     Why  on  earth  did  n't  you  send  it  on  ?  " 
"  Well,  sir,"  says  the  Station-master,  deprecatingly,  "  it 
would  n't  have  been  any  use,  as  you  'd  have  been  there 
before  the  telegram."    "  What !  "  I  exclaim.    He  explains, 
"The  message  only  arrived  ten  minutes  before  you  came 
down."     He  adds  that  his  porter  walking  would  n't  get  to 
Bovor,  which  is  four  miles  off,  as  soon  as  I  should  driving, 


I$2  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

and  therefore  he  did  n't  send  it :  he  then  begins  to  recapitu- 
late the  circumstances  of  the  line  being  wrong,  message 
going  to  Brighton,  when  I  cut  him  short.  "  I  shall  com- 
plain of  this,"  I  say,  wishing  to  frighten  him.  He  is  n't  a 
bit  frightened,  and  agrees  with  me.  He  says,  "  Yes,  there 
ought  to  be  a  complaint  about  it."  "  To  whom  ?  "  I  ask, 
producing  my  pocket-book.  Well,  to  the  London  Tele- 
graph Office,  he  thinks.  It  shall  be  done.  I  make  a  great 
note,  "  To  the  Manager  of  the  Telegraph  Office  —  To  Com- 
plain —  Brighton"  and  return  the  memorandum  to  my 
pocket. 

What 's  the  time  ?  Eleven.  Why,  they  '11  all  be  in 
bed.  The  Station-master  thinks  it  not  improbable.  Shall 
I  go  over  there  ?  The  porter  can  get  me  a  fly :  in  five 
minutes.  He  does  so  :  in  a  quarter  of  an  hour.  "  If," 
I  ask  the  Station-master,  who  has  sat  down  to  work,  and 
has  quite  forgotten  me,  "  I  do  go  to  Bovor,  and  can't  get 
into  the  Castle,  I  suppose  I  can  get  a  bed  in  the  village  ?  " 
"What  village  ?  "  he  asks.  Well,  I  mean  in  Bovor  village. 
"  O,"  he  says,  "  there  's  no  Bovor  village,  there  's  only  the 
Castle  ;  it 's  a  good  four  miles  from  here."  "  Well,  then, 
I  must  return  to  Beckenhurst,  if  I  want  a  bed."  "  Yes, 
that 's  it,"  he  says,  adding,  "  there  's  a  fairish  inn  at  Beck- 
enhurst." 

Shall  I  stop  at  Beckenhurst,  and  go  on  in  the  morning  ? 
I  am  undecided.  The  fly  arrives.  The  porter  decides  me 
by  placing  my  luggage  in  the  boot.  It  isn't  a  fly  at  all,  it 
is  a  sort  of  dog-cart,  and  I  have  to  sit  next  to  the  driver. 
It  is  very  cold.  It  is  very  dark,  after  coming  out  of  the 
Station.  Brightish  night.  We  start  for  Bovor  Castle. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

EN  ROUTE  FOR  THE  CASTLE.  —  THOUGHTS   ON   THE   STARS 
—  A  COMMUNICATIVE  DRIVER. 

ET  into  the  gig,  and  leave  the  Station.     Very 
cold.     At  first   starting   it   seems   a  brightish 
night.     Getting  away  from  the   Station  (where 
the  gas   is   on,  which  is  all  the  difference),   it 
is  pitch  dark. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  think  of  the  word  "pitch,"  and  hold 
on  by  the  rail  at  the  side  of  my  seat.  Feels  unsafe.  Always 
feel  unsafe  when  being  driven. 

Happy  Thought.  —  What  must  others  feel  when  I  'm 
driving  them  ? 

Recollect  I  once  did  drive  some  one  through  a  lane,  in 
Devonshire,  in  the  dark.  I  say  "  some  one  "  :  I  now  for- 
get who  he  was,  as  I  never  saw  him  again.  Drove  him  and 
ever}-  one  up  against  a  wall,  which  I  thought  was  the  con- 
tinuation of  the  road.  Recollect  driving  once  again  in 
Devonshire,  after  dinner,  by  moonlight.  We  walked  the 
horse,  so  as  to  be  particularly  careful.  Drove  him  up  a 
bank,  which  I  thought  was  n't  a  bank,  and  upset  every- 
body, with  a  boot  full  of  rabbits  which  we  'd  shot,  and  three 
7* 


154  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

guns.  Did  n't  drive  again  in  Devonshire,  except  once  more 
in  broad  daylight,  when  I  tried  to  turn  a  corner  very  neatly. 
I  recollect,  on  that  occasion,  one  fellow  went  into  a  green 
mud  pond,  and  was  laid  up  for  three  weeks,  and  the  other 
fellow  disappeared  over  a  hedge,  and  said  he  was  n't  hurt 
much.  The  driver  always  falls  easier  than  the  others  ;  at 
least  I  did. 

I  wish  I  had  n't  recollected  all  these  things. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Unfasten  the  apron,  so  as  to  be 
ready. 

Talk  to  the  man  in  order  to  give  him  confidence,  and 
not  to  let  him  think  I  'm  afraid.  I  observe  to  him,  "  It 's 
very  dark."  He  observes,  "  No,  it  ain't,"  which  does  n't 
promise  well  for  a  sustained  conversation.  I  think  we  're 
turning  a  corner,  by  the  feeling  of  being  at  some  sort  of  an 
angle  with  the  hand-rail,  but  I  can't  see.  Whatever  it  is, 
we  're  safe  again  and  (I  think)  on  a  straight  road. 

The  horse  stumbles.  I  suggest  he  'd  better  "  hold  him 
up."  Hate  careless  driving,  specially  in  the  dark.  Man, 
who  is  well  wrapped  up,  replies  from  behind  a  high  coat- 
collar  and  comforter,  and  from  beneath  a  hat  (which  three 
things  are  all  I  can  see  of  him),  "  He  's  all  right."  Man  is 
sulky  :  perhaps  been  called  out  of  bed  to  drive  me  to  Bovor 
Castle,  and  does  n't  like  it.  I  should  n't. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Be  kindly  towards  him.  Hint  at  the 
possibility  of  his  having  a  warm  drink  on  the  road,  if  he  '11 
only  drive  carefully. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  155 

Happier  Thought.  —  To  give  it  him  at  the  end  of  the  jour- 
ney, not  at  the  beginning.  He  might  get  excited. 

In  a  dark,  narrow  lane.  I  say,  as  pleasantly  as  possible, 
"  Nasty  place,  this  ;  can't  pass  many  things  here."  by  which 
I  mean  to  convey  that  if  any  other  vehicle  was  meeting  us, 
one  of  the  two  would  be  in  the  ditch.  He  admits,  with  re- 
serve, "  No,  there  ain't  much  room."  He  does  n't  seem  to 
know  wjiat  he  should  do  if  another  vehicle  comes.  I  won- 
der (to  myself)  if  I  could  jump  into  the  hedge.  Something 
is  coming.  No.  Yes.  No.  Horse  stumbles  again.  I 
laugh,  and,  not  liking  to  give  advice  to  a  professional 
driver,  say,  "  He  wants  a  little  holding  up,  eh  ?  "  Man  re- 
plies, gruffly,  "  No,  he  don't."  From  his  tone  I  gather  that 
he  won't  take  advice.  Stars  are  appearing,  as  it  seems  to  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Looking  at  the  stars  (it  is  clearer 
now),  I  remember  how  African  travellers  in  the  deserts, 
or  jungles,  or  prairies,  or  somewhere  where  nobody  is,  ex- 
cept occasional  lions  and  tigers,  guide  themselves  by  the 
stars.  Wonder  how  they  do  it.  M.  Du  Chaillu  in  his 
book  says  he  did  it.  I  suppose  it  requires  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  Heavenly  Bodies.  At  present  the  only 
Heavenly  Body  I  know  is  the  Great  Bear  ;  which,  by  the 
way,  is  about  as  much  like  a  bear  as  —  as  —  say  a  poker. 
[That 's  where  I  fail,  in  simile.]  If  I  looked  at  the  Great 
Bear,  I  wonder  where  I  should  get  to  at  last  In  other 
directions,  too,  you  see  other  stars  and  lights.  This  would 
be  very  puzzling.  Sailors  steer  by  the  stars.  It  must  be 
v«jry  difficult  to  find  which  way  to  turn  at  sea.  First  turn- 


*56  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

ing  to  the  left,  we  '11  say,  for  instance,  takes  you  to  Amer- 
ica. Well,  that  can't  be  easy  to  find  at  any  time,  —  specially 
at  night.  At  least,  I  've  always  thought  so,  looking  at  it 
from  Brighton. 

These  thoughts  distract  me  from  my  present  danger.  I 
don't  know  that  there  is  any  danger,  but  I  feel  as  if  there 
was.  Horse  stumbles.  Man  informs  me  that  "  we  're 
going  down  a  rather  steep  hill."  Odd,  I  don't  know  it. 
But  why  does  n't  he  "  hold  him  up  "  ?  I  ask.  He  replies, 
"  He  does  n't  want  any  holding  up."  He  says,  he  knows 
the  horse  well  enough.  So  do  I  by  this  time  :  a  beast. 
Driving  on.  Another  corner.  The  driver  is  rather  rash 
at  corners,  but  steady  in  the  straight  road.  I  feel  I  should 
like  to  say  to  him,  "  Don't  try  to  drive  so  dashingly."  But 
perhaps  it  will  only  irritate  him. 

I  want  to  pull  his  right  rein  when  he  's  going  round  a 
left-hand  corner.  Perhaps  I  make  matters  worse  by  in- 
terference. 

Shall  be  glad  when  this  is  over. 

"  Where,"  I  ask,  "  is  the  Castle  ?  "  He  answers,  "  O, 
that  ain't  here  :  this  is  Beckenhurst,  this  is."  "  Well,"  I 
say,  "  we  Ve  come  two  miles,  and  the  Station  was  Becken- 
hurst." He  corrects  me,  with,  evidently,  the  clear  knowl- 
edge of  a  native,  "  No,  that  's  Beckenhurst  Station :  this  is 
Beckenhurst  village." 

"  What,  all  this  ?  "  I  ask,  alluding  to  the  distance  we  've 
already  travelled.  He  informs  me,  with  his  whip  pointing 
straight  forward,  and  then  from  left  to  right,  at  the  hedges, 
"  Yes,  all  this  :  Bovor  's  a  matter  of  four  mile  from  here." 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  157 

I  tell  him  that  they  said  it  was  only  four  miles  from 
Beckenhurst  Station :  which  notion  seems  to  amuse  him 
behind  his  collar  and  comforter,  and  under  his  hat. 

Happy  Thought.  —  These  country  people  never  know 
what  distance  is :  therefore,  he  may  be  wrong.  Yes,  but 
wrong  which  way  ?  Is  it  more  or  less  than  four  miles  ?  I 
ought  to  have  asked  at  the  Station  how  much  a  mile  the 
fly  charges  here.  This  is  just  one  of  those  occasions  when 
I  want  presence  of  mind.  I  think  of  these  things,  just  like 
my  repartees  and  similes,  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after  I  ought 
to  have  said  them. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  pretend  I  know  the  road  :  then  he 
won't  impose  on  me.  I  do  recollect  having  been  in  this 
neighborhood,  or  at  all  events  in  Kent,  when  I  was  a  child. 
I  observe,  with  decision,  "  O,  it 's  not  more  than  four  miles." 
It  does  n't  seem  to  make  very  much  difference  to  him,  so 
perhaps  they  charge  here  by  the  hour.  I  don't  like  to  ask 
him  to  drive  fast ;  and  yet  if  he  dawdles  for  the  sake  of 
running  up  a  bill,  I  sha'  n't  get  to  Bover  Castle  until,  per- 
haps, one  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  every  one  's  fast 
asleep. 

Unhappy  Thought.  —  Supposing  I  can't  get  in  ?  Because, 
hang  it,  as  my  telegram  has  not  arrived,  they  don't  expect 
me.  If  I  do  get  in,  p'r'aps  they  won't  have  got  a  bed. 
House  full,  perhaps.  I  put  this  case  to  the  driver,  and 
add,  "  I  suppose  (as  a  matter  of  course)  that  I  can  easily 
get  a  bed  at  the  Hotel."  He  asks,  gruffly,  "  What  Hotel  ?  " 


158  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

I  say,  "Why,  at  Bovor."  This  amuses  him  under  his 
wrapper,  as  before,  and  he  observes,  presently,  "  There 
ain't  no  Hotel."  I  think  he 's  stickling  for  names,  and 
putting  too  fine  a  point  (so  to  speak)  upon  it ;  so  I  explain 
that  when  I  say  Hotel,  I  mean  village  Inn.  He  answers 
me,  displaying  some  little  petulance,  "  There  ain  't  no 
village  " :  adding,  as  a  consequence,  "  and  there  ain't  no 
Inn."  "No  Inn!"  I  exclaim.  I  hardly  like  asking,  after 
this,  if  there  is  a  Castle.  Supposing  it  should  be  only  a 
practical  joke  of  Childers  ?  Impossible. 

"  If  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,"  I  say,  "  I  can  get  a 
bed  at  the  hotel  at  Beckenhurst,  then  ?  "  He  is  doubtful 
about  this,  as  they  're  sure  to  be  closed,  being  so  late. 

Happy  Thought.  —  This  flyman  comes  from  some  stables  : 
the  stables  belong  to  an  Inn,  of  course.  I  put  this  to  him, 
thus,  that  "  if  the  worst  does  come  to  the  worst,  I  can  get  a 
bed  at  his  Inn."  He  extinguishes  all  hope  in  this  quarter 
by  telling  me  that  "  his  master  only  lets  out  horses  and 
flys." 

I  hope  to  goodness  Childers  will  be  up.  He  used  to  be 
a  great  fellow  in  town  for  sitting  up  late.  Perhaps  in  the 
country  he  goes  to  bed  early. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Dismiss  anxiety,  and  obtain  informa- 
tion about  the  country  from  the  driver. 

I  ask  him  about  the  crops.  He  does  n't  know  much 
about  crops.  "  Any  floods  ?  "  I  inquire.  He  's  not  heard 
of  any. 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  159 

Happy  Thought.  —  Get  some  statistics  from  him  about 
Cattle  Plague.  I  ask  him  "  if  he  's  had  much  Cattle  Plague 
here."  He  is  angry  and  returns  that  he  has  n't  had  no 
Cattle  Plague.  He  thinks  I  'm  laughing  at  him.  These 
country  people  are  very  techy.  I  tell  him,  politely,  that  I 
don't  mean  that  he 's  had  the  Cattle  Plague  (though  he  's 
ass  enough  for  anything,  but  I  don't  say  this),  but  I  want 
to  know  has  it  been  bad  here.  He  has  n't  heard  as  it 
has. 

Perhaps  he 's  got  some  information  about  the  antiquities 
of  the  county.  No,  he  has  n't  "  Bovor  Castle  's  very  old," 
I  suggest,  to  draw  him  out.  He  supposes  as  it  is.  I  ask, 
"  How  old  ?  "  He  don't  know  ;  but  it 's  been  there  ever  so 
long.  "Is  he  acquainted  with  Mr.  Childers  ? "  No,  he 
ain't. 

He  won't  be  drawn  out.  It  is  lighter  now.  The  moon 
shines.  Delightful  night  to  arrive  at  an  old  Feudal  Castle. 
I  imagine  to  myself  a  grand  entrance :  Gothic  or  Norman 
arches  :  {Happy  Thought.  Get  up  my  architecture.]  a  fine 
old  bridge,  a  large  massive  gate,  with  an  iron  rod  at  the 
side,  which  moves  a  deep-toned  bell  on  the  arrival  of  a 
guest  Or,  perhaps,  a  horn  hung  up  outside,  wherewith  to 
summon  the  warder.  Shall  read  Ivanhoe  again.  We  go 
down  hill. 

We  are  in  a  lane  full  of  ruts :  there  is  no  doubt  about 
that.  He  informs  me  "  We  're  just  there."  It  is  past 
twelve  o'clock. 

I  can't  see  the  Castle  ;  perhaps  it  will  burst  upon  me  pres- 
ently in  the  full  light  of  the  pale  romantic  moon.  It  does  n't, 


160  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

however,  and  my  driver  pulls  up  at  an  old  wooden  five-barred 
gate  leading  into  a  field. 

"  HeVe  's  Bovor  Castle,"  says  he,  as  we  stop  short ;  and 
he  looks  over  his  comforter  at  me  as  much  as  to  say,  "  And 
what  are  you  going  to  do  now  ?  " 

I  don't  know.  I  only  see  a  common  gate  leading  into  a 
sloshy  field. 

"  Can't  we  get  nearer  to  the  Castle  than  this  ?  "  I  ask,  not 
seeing  the  Castle  at  all  anywhere. 

It  appears  we  can't,  as  the  Castle  is  in  a  sort  of  hollow. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  moat,  and  there  's  no  getting  up  to  it 
driving,  nor  even  on  foot,  if  the  drawbridge  is  up. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  write  a  chapter  in  Typical  Devel- 
opments on  the  idiocy  and  thoughtlessness  of  our  Norman 
ancestors.  I  wonder  if  they  ever  arrived  late  at  night  and 
could  n't  get  in.  I  will  descend. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  doubt  the  honesty  of  this  country 
driver.  If  I  descend,  he  may  drive  off  with  my  luggage  ; 
and  I  shall  never  see  him  again.  In  fact,  as  he  has  been 
behind  his  wrapper,  coat-collar,  and  underneath  his  hat,  I 
have  n't  seen  him  yet,  and  could  n't  swear  to  him  in  a  Court 
of  Law. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  make  him  get  down  and  drag  my 
luggage  out,  while  I  stand  at  the  horse's  head.  Good.  But 
what 's  next  ?  Here  's  my  portmanteau,  box,  desk,  bag, 
hat-box,  rugs,  dressing-case,  and  how  am  I  to  get  up,  or 
down,  to  Bovor  Castle  ? 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  l6l 

Happy  Thought.  —  He  shall  take  them  on,  and  I  '11  remain 
with  the  horse.  He  does  n't  like  the  idea,  and  mistrusts  my 
stopping  with  his  gig  and  horse.  These  apparently  simple 
bumpkins  are  full  of  low  cunning.  Capital  subject  for  a 
chapter  in  Typical  Developments.  He  opens  the  gate,  and 
carries  my  portmanteau  across  the  field.  Following  him 
with  my  eyes,  I  gradually  become  aware  of  a  building  in  the 
distance,  across  apparently  two  fields,  by  moonlight  Not 
my  idea,  at  present,  of  Bovor  Castle. 

If  Childers  is  not  up,  and  I  have  to  carry  all  these  things 
back,  and  then  drive  about  Kent  during  the  night  looking 
for  a  bed,  it  will  be  pleasant 

Happy  Thought.  —  Childers  shall  get  up.     What  a  sur- 
prise for  him  ! 
Luggage  still  being  carried.    Half  past  midnight 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

BOVOR   CASTLE.  —  THE    DRAWBRIDGE.  —  THE    RECEPTION. 
—  SUPPER.  —  THE   HAUNTED   ROOM. 

HAT  inconvenient  places  these  old  castles  are  ! 
This  Bovor  Castle  is  in  a  splendid  state  of 
preservation  :  one  of  the  few,  I  believe,  with  a 
drawbridge.  The  drawbridge,  when  I  arrive, 

is  up  for  the  night.     I  wish  Childers  was  up  for  the  night. 

No  bell.     No  knocker.     No  horn.     Nothing. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Tell  the  flyman  to  shout. 

He  says  if  he  shouts  it  will  frighten  the  horse.  I  must 
shout,  and  he  must  run  back  and  tie  his  horse  up :  then 
return  and  shout.  In  his  absence  I  walk  along  the  side  of 
the  moat,  to  see  if  there  's  any  way  of  crossing  without  the 
bridge.  None. 

It's  very  solemn  and  gray  in  the  moonlight,  and  myste- 
rious and  dark  out  of  it  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  come  to  release 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  I  see  a  punt  moored  to  the  oppo- 
site bank  :  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  again. 

I  see  the  places  where  they  used  to  pour  hot  lead  out  on 
to  the  people  below. 

Hope  Childers  is  n't  hiding,  and  going  to  have  any  prac- 
tical jokes. 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  163 

Flyman  returns.     I  tell  him  to  shout 

Happy  Thought.  —  A  man  can't  shout  with  any  energy  in 
cold  blood.  The  shouting  of  a  hireling  cannot  be  so  hearty 
as  that  of  the  person  interested. 

I  tell  him  to  shout  louder.  He  asks,  "  what  name  he 
shall  shout  ?  "  I  tell  him  "  Childers."  He  begins,  "  Hi, 
Childers  !  C\\\\-ders  /  "  I  don't  like  hearing  him  behave  so 
familiarly,  but  won't  stop  him,  in  order  to  insert  the  "  Mis- 
ter," or  perhaps  he  won't  shout  any  more.  I  fancy  he  takes 
a  secret  pleasure  in  calling  the  present  owner  of  the  castle 
"  Childers." 

He  says  he  can't  do  it  any  louder.  Absurd  !  A  flyman, 
and  can't  shout ! 

I  begin,  "  Childers  !  "  I  take  a  turn  of  two  minutes. 
There  's  no  echo  ;  no  effect  of  any  sort,  except  a  growing 
sense  of  hopeless  desolation.  The  flyman  is  sitting  on  a 
portmanteau,  and  beginning  to  doze.  "  O:z7-ders  !  Chil- 
ders  !  Childers  > " 

I  can't  believe  they  're  all  asleep.  They  hear  me,  and 
won't  get  up.  It 's  cruel.  "  Chil-ders,  hi  !  !  Hi  !  !  !  "  He 
may  not  be  at  home.  Somebody  must  hear. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Make  the  flyman  shout  with  me. 

Duet  —  "  Childers  !  Hi  !  Hi !  Chil-ders  !  Hi !  "  I  don't 
like  leaving  off  for  a  minute,  but  we  are  obliged  to  do  so  for 
want  of  breath,  the  hireling  giving  in  first. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Throw  a  stone  at  a  window.  Glazier 
less  expensive  than  driving  to  a  hotel. 


1 64  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

We  look  for  a  stone.  Flyman  says  he  should  like  to  break 
a  window  or  two.  I  tell  him  there  's  no  necessity  for  that. 
Can't  find  a  stone.  Can't  throw  grass. 

Shout  once  more.  Wish  we  'd  not  left  off  shouting,  to 
look  for  stones  ;  as,  if  we  had  roused  them,  they  '11  all  have 
gone  to  sleep  again. 

Wish  I  was  in  London  —  in  bed.  Wish  I  'd  asked  for 
an  answer  to  my  telegram.  Wish  all  this  while  I  shout. 

A  light  behind  a  red  curtain  at  a  window.  A  voice,  which 
comes  in  as  a  pleasant  relief  to  ours,  says,  "  Hallo  !  "  A 
stupid  thing  to  say,  by  the  way.  I  shout,  "  Hallo,  Childers ! " 
He  answers,  "  Who  's  that  ?  "  That  settles  the  question  :  it 
is  Childers.  I  tell  him  that /am  here.  He  exclaims,  "You  ! 
By  Jove,  all  right ! "  and  disappears,  light  and  all.  I  wonder 
if  he  's  glad  to  see  me  !  I  wonder  what  he  's  saying  now  ! 

The  flyman  suddenly  becomes  more  respectful,  I  fancy  ; 
he  had  evidently  begun  to  think  that  I  did  n't  know  any  one 
at  Bovor  Castle. 

Noise  on  the  other  side  of  the  gate.     Unbarring. 

Childers  is  there  in  a  dressing-gown,  with  a  lantern,  like 
Guy  Fawkes.  He  cries  out,  "  Stop  a  minute,  and  I  '11  let 
down  the  drawbridge,"  as  if  I  was  going  to  attempt  cross- 
ing over  without  it. 

It  is  down:  he  works  it  with  one  hand.  He  says,  "  O 
yes,  it  was  no  good  calling  the  maid  to  do  it.  They  're  all 
in  bed."  Flyman  crosses  with  the  luggage.  I  pay  him, 
standing  under  the  portcullis  :  he  grumbles,  and  I  pay  him 
again.  I  stop  to  admire  the  romantic  scene.  Childers 
says  "Yes,  deuced  cold,  though.  See  it  better  to-morrow 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  165 

morning."     He  closes  the  gate,  and  leaves  the  drawbridge 
down.     He  tells  me  he  was  asleep  when  I  arrived. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Praise  the  place  as  much  as  possible 
to  put  him  in  a  good  humor.  Wish  I  could  recollect  if 
he  's  got  a  family  or  not,  I  'd  ask  after  them.  Ought  to 
recollect  all  these  sort  of  things  before  calling  on  anybody. 
Safe  question  to  ask  him,  "  All  well  at  home  ? "  only  it 
sounds  as  if  he  had  just  arrived,  not  I.  His  reply  is,  "  All 
quite  well,"  and  I  wonder  to  myself  whether  there  is  a 
Mrs.  Childers.  I  've  only  known  Childers  as  a  bachelor 
in  town.  I  don't  recollect  his  mentioning  Mrs.  Childers 
then. 

We  cross  a  court-yard,  which  reminds  me  of  being  in  a 
small  college,  and  coming  home  late.  In  fact  I  can't  help 
expecting  to  see  plenty  of  lights,  and  hear  jovial  voices. 
Neither. 

He  asks  me,  doubtfully,  if  I  won't  take  any  supper.  I 
say,  "  No,  my  dear  fellow  ;  don't  let  me  put  you  to  any 
trouble."  By  which  I  want  him  to  understand  that  I  'm 
very  hungry,  and  had  expected  to  find  chickens,  cham- 
pagne, and  salad  awaiting  my  arrival.  He  replies,  "  O,  no 
trouble  in  the  least.  As  you  don't  want  any,  you  'd  like  to 
go  to  bed  at  once."  I  say,  "  Yes,  at  once  !  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  Never  travel  without  biscuits.  Makes 
you  independent.  So  do  matches  and  soap. 

A  noise  in  the  passage.  Two  men  come  in  loudly.  One, 
who,  I  should  say,  sleeps  in  his  spectacles,  has  evidently 


166  HAPPY  THOUGHTS. 

had  his  trousers,  slippers,  and  shooting-coat  close  by  his 
bedside.  The  other  has  only  been  able  to  lay  hold  of  the 
two  first  articles.  They  rush  in,  shake  me  by  the  hand 
heartily,  and  say  "  How  d'  ye  do,  old  fellow  ?  "  I  respond 
as  energetically,  "  How  d'  ye  do  ?  How  are  you  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  have  certainly  never  seen  either  of 
them  before.  They  are  asleep,  I  think. 

They  insist  on  shaking  hands  again.  They  then  look  at 
one  another  and  laugh.  I  laugh."  Childers  laughs.  We 
all  laugh.  We  then  sit  down,  and  there  is  a  pause. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  say,  cheerfully,  "  Well,  I  've  kept 
my  promise.  Here  I  am." 

The  short  man  in  spectacles  laughs  as  if  he  were  going 
to  make  an  observation,  but  does  n't.  The  taller  man 
smiles  thoughtfully  at  the  candle.  I  am  almost  positive 
they  are  asleep.  Childers  observes,  "  that  he  did  n't  ex- 
pect me  so  late,"  but  adds,  "  that  he  's  deuced  pleased  to 
see  me."  The  short  man  in  spectacles  leans  forward  to 
shake  hands  with  me  again,  and  laughs.  The  taller  has 
evidently  expended  all  his  energy  at  first,  and  is  fast  asleep 
upright  in  his  chair.  More  noise  ;  another  man  enters  in 
a  sort  of  barbarian  costume,  consisting  of  knickerbockers, 
a  railway  rug,  and  a  Scotch  cap.  He  says,  "  he  thought 
the  orchard  was  being  robbed  :  —  he  'd  loaded  his  gun,  and 
looked  out." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Narrow  escape  this  1 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  167 

Seeing  me,  he  says,  cheerfully,  "  How  d'  ye  do  ?  "  I  re- 
spond equally  cheerfully,  and  we  all  laugh  again,  including 
the  tall  man,  who  wakes  up  to  do  it,  and  then  resumes  his 
dozing. 

I  suppose  they  don't  introduce  people  at  Bovor.  Wonder 
if  they  're  brothers  or  cousins,  or  only  friends.  Must  take 
care  what  I  say. 

Short  man  in  spectacles  inquires  for  something  to  drink. 
Childers,  addressing  him  as  "  Bobby,"  tells  him  he  can't 
want  anything  at  that  hour.  It  appears,  however,  that  he 
can,  and  does.  The  taller  man  also  wakes  up  at  the  men- 
tion of  something  to  drink  ;  and  the  barbarian,  who  has  now 
lighted  a  pipe  at  the  solitary  candle,  is  struck  with  the  idea 
as  a  good  one. 

They  all  know  where  everything  is  to  be  found.  Bobby 
says  he  would  n't  mind  something  to  eat.  Tall  man,  be- 
coming more  wakeful  every  minute,  suggests  "  cheese," 
and,  as  an  afterthought,  "bread."  The  barbarian,  taking 
a  kindly  view  of  my  case,  asks  me  to  join  him  in  a  pipe, 
and  wait  till  Childers  brings  in  some  cold  pie.  This  (with 
the  exception  of  the  pipe)  is  thoughtful.  I  take  to  the 
barbarian. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Note  for  Typical  Developments.  The 
short  cut  to  a  man's  heart  is  through  the  stomach. 

Every  one  is  gone  to  get  something.  There  is  an  air  of 
hospitality  about  them  all  that  I  like.  But  I  can't  make 
out  whether  they  are  all  Childerses,  or  friends,  or  cousins. 
Each  one  seems  to  be  the  host. 


168  HAPPY  THOUGHTS. 

Childers  returns  alone,  with  a  cold  pie  and  a  plate. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  ask  him,  now  he 's  alone,  who  the 
other  fellows  are.  He  is  surprised.  "  What,  don't  I  know 
them  ?  "  No.  O,  then  he  '11  tell  me.  The  short  one,  in 
spectacles,  is  Bob  Englefield,  the  dramatist..  Don't  I  know 
him  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  (in  order  not  to  offend  him),  "  I  've 
heard  the  name  somewhere." 

"  The  tall  one,"  he  continues,  "  is  a  very  rising  fellow,  — 
Jack  Stenton."  I  ask,  "  Rising  ?  in  what  way  ? "  Childers 
replies :  "  O,  in  every  way :  philosophy,  and  that  sort  of 
thing."  Then  adds,  as  if  this  was  n't  enough  to  determine 
his  character,  "  Writes  for  several  reviews." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Best  thing  to  say  is,  "  Does  he,  in- 
deed ?  "  which  I  say  accordingly. 

The  barbarian  in  the  rug  is  Poss  Felmyr.  "  Old  Poss  is 
writing  a  novel  down  here,"  he  tells  me.  All  I  can  say  is, 
"  Is  he,  indeed  ?  "  again. 

I  remark  that  they've  all  got  familiar  Christian  names, — 
Bobby,  Jack,  Mat  (Childers  is  "  Mat,"  I  find),  and  Poss. 

"  Why  Poss  ?  "  Nobody  knows  :  they  've  always  called 
him  so. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  like  these  sort  of  names.  They  're 
terms  of  affection  among  men.  I  never  had  a  name  of  this 
sort.  I  wish  these  fellows  would  call  me  "  Poss,"  or  some- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  169 

thing.  I  like  this  style  of  thing :  no  women  ;  all  men,  c:ever, 
brilliant,  literary,  and  artistic. 

I  give  out  this  sentiment  over  the  pie : 

Childers  says,  "  O,  my  wife  's  here."  I  say,  "  O,  in- 
deed ! "  and  try  to  explain  away  my  remark  by  saying, 
"  Ah  !  that 's  a  different  thing." 

They  smoke,  eat,  and  drink  all  at  once. 

I  make  a  good  supper  off  pie,  cheese,  and  cold  brandy- 
and-water. 

The  next  question  which  occurs  to  the  party  is,  "  Where 
shall  we  put  him  ?  "  meaning  me. 

I  say,  politely,  anywhere.  Hope  (to  myself  sincerely) 
that  it  will  be  a  comfortable  room. 

Bobby  jumps  up,  and  says,  "  He  's  got  it." 

We  regard  him  inquiringly. 

He  looks  round  at  us  and  says,  "  How  about  the'  Haunted 
Room  ? " 

I  repeat  (I  am  aware,  feebly),  "  The  Haunted  Room  ?  " 
and  smile.  Of  course  I  don't  believe  in  ghosts.  Pooh ! 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

BOVOR.  —  THE  HAUNTED  ROOM.  —  ROUGHING  IT. 

F  course  I  don't  mind  a  haunted  room  ?  "     Of 
course  not. 

I  announce,  as  a  curious  fact,  that  I  never 
was  in  one.     Somebody  says,  "  No  ?  really  !  " 
as  if  I  was  quite  an  exception  to  the  general  rule. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Try  to  test  them  by  saying,  "  You  've 
not  seen  a  ghost  ? " 

They  admit  they  've  not ;  "  But,  perhaps,"  Childers  says, 
"  he  '11  be  more  polite  to  visitors."  Have  I  had  all  I  want  ? 
Childers  wants  to  know.  Yes.  We  retire  from  the  dining- 
room  in  procession,  Bobby  first,  Childers  last,  myself  just 
before  Childers. 

It  is  a  very  old  house.  Tiles  on  the  floor  in  some  parts. 
Can't  see  the  advantage  of  tiles  :  perhaps  they  thought  they 
were  going  to  build  roofs,  and  changed  their  minds. 

We  pass  through  a  large  hall  with  a  splendid  old  fire- 
place. Enormous  chimney.  [Note  for  Typical  Develop- 
ments. Look  up  authorities  about  the  Mediaeval  Sweep.] 
There  is  an  oak  screen  at  one  end. 

My  candle  (they  know  their  way  about  without  any)> 
though  not  particularly  brilliant,  puts  everything  else  in 
the  shade 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  171 

I  can't  help  exclaiming,  having  an  eye  for  the  picturesque, 
u  Charming,  delightful  old  place  !  " 

Childers  replies,  "  Yes.     Wants  doing  up." 

"  Doing  up  !  "  I  exclaim.     "  O  no." 

"  Ah,"  says  he,  "  you  don't  know  it  Rats  and  damp. 
Come  along  to  bed." 

Somebody  says  "Hallo!"  from  above.  It  startles  me. 
Whether  it  is  the  shadows  or  the  candle,  or  the  family  boots 
all  in  a  row,  I  don't  know,  but  I  am  nervous.  Childers 
points  Bobby's  face  out  to  me,  high  up,  looking  out  of  a 
little  window  in  the  screen.  I  dare  say  an  ancestor  put  it 
down  as  a  "  Happy  Thought "  to  have  a  window  in  the 
screen.  Idiot! 

I  stumble  up  the  glorious  old  oak  stairs.  My  candle 
only  shows  me  the  next  step  each  time.  The  shadows 
which  I  make  by  moving  the  light  about  look  exactly  like 
rats.  These  stairs  twist  so.  Ancestors  could  never  have 
walked  straight. 

Happy  Thought. —  Winding  staircases  originated  by  ine- 
briated architects. 

Happy  Thought,  —  To  ask  if  there  are  any  black  beetles. 

No.  None.  Except  in  the  hall  through  which  we  've 
just  passed.  I  stumble  up  three  more  stairs  and  some 
loose  tiles.  Did  ancestors  have  carpets  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Look  out  in  some  Useful  Knowledge 
Dictionary.  "  Carpets.  When  introduced  into  England  ? 
By  whom  ? " 


172  HAPPY  THOUGHTS 

Happy  Thought.  —  Probably  by  the  Turks  Rhubarb 
and  carpets  might  have  come  over  together.  Turkey  in 
both  instances. 

We  are  on  an  old  landing.  I  ask,  jocularly,  whose  ghost 
it 's  supposed  to  be  that  haunts  my  room. 

Childers  does  n't  know.  Jack  Stenton  (the  rising  phi- 
losopher) does.  He  informs  us,  "  Old  woman  burnt." 

I  say,  "  Oh  ?  "  inquiringly.  "  Old  woman  burnt,  eh  ?  ' 
and  meditate  on  it.  I  don't  know  what  I  think  about  it. 
But  I  do  think.  We  all  stop  to  think. 

"  Let's  get  in,"  I  suggest.     They  say,  "  Let's  do  so." 

Childers  stops  on  a  stair  to  say,  he  hopes  I  'm  prepared 
to  rough  it  a  little,  as  he  did  n't  expect  me. 

I  tell  him  I  like  roughing  it.  Wonder  (to  myself)  what  his 
idea  of  roughing  it  is.  I  knew  a  man  whose  idea  of  roughing 
it  in  the  country  was  to  have  a  villa  in  a  park,  a  French  cook, 
and  a  valet.  He  used  to  tell  me  he  would  be  perfectly  con- 
tent with  homely  fare  :  his  idea  of  homely  fare  was  potage  & 
la  reine,  mullet,  ortolans  and  woodcocks.  Hope  Childers 
calls  this  roughing  it.  Childers  steps  suddenly,  and  looks 
at  Bob  Englefield,  the  dramatist  in  spectacles.  A  notion 
has  struck  him.  He  says,  "  I  don't  know  how  we  '11  make 
you  a  bed,  though."  This  promises  to  result  in  roughing  it. 

I  am  ready  with  a  manly  reply,  "  O,  I  can  sleep  any- 
where." 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  qualify  this  by  adding,  "  for  one. 
night." 

Bob  Englefield,  who  has  a  ready  invention,  says,  "  O, 
I  've  got  a  rug." 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  173 

Stenton,  the  reviewer,  who  appears  more  thoughtful,  per- 
haps because  he  's  sleepier  than  the  others,  says,  in  a  deep 
voice,  '•  Sheets." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Lessen  the  roughing-it  process  as 
much  as  possible.  Say,  decidedly,  "  Yes,  sheets." 

Childers  does  n't  know  where  the  sheets  are. 

Poss  Felmyr  asks,  "  How  about  a  pillow  ?  " 

With  the  same  view  as  before,  I  second  this  inquiry. 

Bob  Englefield  has  it.     "  The  sofa  cushion." 

Carried  nem.  con.,  and  I  brighten  up. 

Bob  Englefield  has  it  again.  "  There  are  two  sheets  in 
his  room  for  him  to-morrow." 

I  say,  "  Don't  bother  on  my  account,"  politely.  Childers 
replies,  cheerily,  "  O,  we  '11  dodge  it  somehow,"  and  I 
look  forward  to  roughing  it.  We  are  obliged  to  bring 
all  my  luggage  up,  as  I  can't  recollect  in  which  thing  my 

sponge  is. 

• 

Happy  Thought  (noted  down  -while  resting  with  carpet- 
bag on  stairs).  —  How  easily  a  man  becomes  accustomed 
to  hardships !  When  I  return  home  I  '11  take  to  visiting 
prisons  and  workhouses  in  disguise,  like  Mrs.  Fry  and 
the  Casual  gentleman  who  wrote  the  workhouse  articles. 
Splendid  subjects  for  Typical  Developments,  "  Human  Mis- 
eries," Vol.  XI. 

Some  one  (the  novelist,  I  think,)  says  he  '11  lend  me  a 
towel.  Each  one  will  give  something,  like  the  three  witches 
in  Macbeth.  They  all  say,  "  Here  's  a  lark  !  "  and  run  off 


174  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

to  collect  the  materials.  Childers  gets  the  sofa  cushion,  and 
we  make  for  my  room.  Luggage  on  a  landing. 

In  my  Room.  —  This  is,  I  am  informed,  the  Haunted 
Chamber,  where  the  old  woman  was  burnt.  Odd  ;  as  I  re- 
mark there  is  no  fireplace.  Bob  Englefield,  Jack  Stenton, 
and  Old  Poss  are  making  my  bed.  It  is  one  of  those 
iron  unfolding  things  which  is  intended  for  a  chair  and  a 
bed. 

Childers  apologizes  for  its  being  a  little  cranky,  and  Old 
Poss  tells  me  I  must  take  care,  when  I  am  lying  down,  to 
lean  more  on  the  left  than  the  right  side,  or  it  will  give 
way. 

They  enjoy  making  the  bed.  I  fancy  they  laugh  because 
they  think  it'll  be  uncomfortable.  It  appears  none  of  them 
have  ever  done  such  a  thing  before.  Poss  Felmyr  says  he 
recollects  making  apple-pie  beds  at  school.  I  '11  examine 
mine  when  they  're  gone. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Every  man  ought  to  be  able  to  sew 
his  own  buttons  on,  and  make  beds,  if  necessary.  If  I 
ever  have  a  family  they  shall  learn  all  these  things. 

The  bed  is  made,  and,  as  they  are  all  immensely  pleased, 
I  thank  them,  and  they  retire,  hoping  I  '11  find  it  all  right, 
and  adding,  that  "  if  the  Ghost  comes,  I  'd  better  throw 
the  sofa  cushion  at  her." 

I  do  hope  that  there  are  not  going  to  be  any  practical 
jokes.  I  recollect  hearing  of  a  man  becoming  an  idiot 
when  a  practical  joke  about  a  ghost  was  played  on 
him. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  l?5 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  wind  up  my  watch  while  I  think 
of  it. 

Childers  walks  to  the  window. 

ft  I  'm  afraid,"  he  says,  apologetically,  "  that  the  window 
does  n't  fasten  very  well." 

I  say,  "  O,  never  mind,"  implying  that  there  's  no  neces- 
sity to  send  for  a  plumber  and  glazier  at  this  time  of  night 
on  my  account. 

"But,"  he  explains,  "  it 's  a  tumble-down  old  place." 

I  tell  him  I  like  this  sort  of  thing  amazingly.  He  ex- 
presses himself  glad  to  hear  it. 

"  Am  I  quite  comfortable  ?  "  is  his  last  inquiry. 

I  look  round  at  the  truckle-bed,  at  my  bag,  at  the  towels, 
and  reply  that  I  am,  cheerily.  I  have  a  misgiving  that  I 
shall  want  something  when  he  's  gone. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  ask  where  the  bell  is. 

There 's  no  bell :  what  fellows  our  ancestors  were ! 
[When  were  bells  invented,  and  by  whom  first  used  in  pri- 
vate castles  ?  Typical  Developments,  Book  X.,  Vol.  XII.] 

The  servants  sleep  on  the  other  side  of  the  castle,  where 
the  children  are.  [Note.  Childers's  children  :  ask  after 
them.] 

"  If  I  want  anything,  I  can  call  to  the  other  fellows,"  I 
suggest. 

"  Yes,  you  can,"  Childers  admits,  jocularly,  "  but,"  he 
adds,  "  they  won't  hear  you."  It  is  an  oddly  built  place  ; 
every  one  appears  to  be  sleeping  in  "  another  passage," 
with  a  staircase  all  to  himself. 


176  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

I  make  the  best  of  it,  and  say,  cheerfully,  "  O,  I  sha'  n't 
want  anything  till  morning." 

"  TKen  that 's  all  right,"  returns  Childers.  He  comes 
back  to  tell  me  that  if  I  want  a  bath  in  the  morning,  Engle- 
field  's  got  it. 

I  thank  him.  When  he  's  gone  I  remember  that  I  don't 
know  where  Englefield's  room  is.  He  comes  back  once 
more  to  tell  me  that  the  door  does  n't  fasten  very  well.  He 
wishes  he  could  give  me  a  better  room.  "  My  dear  fellow," 
I  say,  "capital  —  excellent  —  the  very  thing  I  like.  So 
quaint,"  I  add. 

"  Well,"  he  says,  "  it  is  a  quaint  little  place ;  better  than 
a  great  uncomfortable  modern  room." 

I  don't  answer  this.  Somehow  I  don't  like  his  praising 
the  room.  He  ought  to  have  left  that  to  the  visitor.  Child- 
ers wants  tact.  He  hopes  I  shall  sleep  comfortably,  and 
laughingly  trusts  I  won't  see  any  ghosts. 

I  reply,  I  '11  tell  him  all  about  the  ghost  in  the  morning. 
I  remember  (as  he  says  good  night)  a  story  of  this  sort  in 
Washington  Irving,  I  think,  where  a  man  jested  about  tell- 
ing them  in  the  morning  about  a  ghost  and  was  haunted. 
I  think  his  hair  turned  white,  and  he  saw  a  picture  roll  its 
eyes,  and  the  top  of  the  bed  came  down  :  I  forget  exactly  ; 
but  it 's  not  the  sort  of  thing  to  remember  just  as  you  're 
going  to  bed  in  a  strange  place.  He  is  gone,  and  I  quite 
forgot  to  ask  him  about  Englefield's  bath.  How  my  pres- 
ence of  mind  deserts  me  ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Brush  my  hair. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  177 

Very  dull  and  lonely  here.  My  face  in  the  glass  looks 
spectral ;  not  like  it  does  in  other  glasses.  I  feel  as  if  some 
one  was  going  to  look  over  my  shoulder.  Shake  this  off. 
Make  notes.  Analyze  my  nervousness  for  a  chapter  in 
Typical  Developments. 

Oak  panels.     No  fireplace.     Wind  is  getting  up. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Early  wind  getting  up  as  I  'm  going 
to  bed. 

Joke  this.  Laugh  to  myself.  Look  in  the  glass.  In  the 
glass  I  appear  like  a  dull  photograph.  Window  blown  open. 
No  blind.  As  Childers  says,  it  does  not  fasten  well :  as  a 
matter  of  fact. 

Wind  getting  up  more  than  ever.  Rain  too.  Casement 
windows  begin  to  rattle. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Fasten  the  window-latch  with  my  rug- 
strap.  Done. 

Rats  in  the  wall,  I  think.  Can't  come  out.  Manage  to 
latch  my  door.  Very  cold  and  damp  feeling.  Think  of 
Fridoline  Symperson.  Fancy  some  one  's  coming  in.  A 
sense  of  desertion  and  loneliness  comes  over  me.  Note  it 
down,  and,  having  done  so,  feel  it  less.  Horrid  candle  and 
no  snuffers. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Put  my  note-book  and  candle  by 
bedside  on  my  portmanteau,  and  jump  into  bed  quickly. 
Do  it. 

Truckle-bed  gives.  They  've  managed  to  make  the  bed 
8*  L 


178  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

so  that  I  get  more  blanket  than  sheet.  The  sheet  seems 
to  be  chiefly  round  the  pillow.  Try  to  pull  it  down.  Worse. 
Leave' bad  alone.  Will  read  in  bed.  Remember  some  one 
saying  it's  dangerous.  Suddenly  think  of  the  woman 
burnt ;  p'r'aps  from  reading  in  bed.  Casement  rattles. 
Rug-strap  won't  hold.  *  *  *  *  Window  blown  open.  Shall 
I  get  out,  and  shut  it  ?  Think  over  this. 

No  ;  more  healthy  to  let  the  air  in,  as  there 's  no  fireplace. 
*  *  *  *  Let  me  give  myself  up  to  romance.  This  is  a 
feudal  castle.  *  *  *  *  This  is  a  feudal  castle.  *  *  *  *  I 
don't  get  beyond  this  idea.  Feudal  castle.  Feudal  castle. 
Barons.  Childers's  children.  *  *  *  *  See  Mrs.  Childers 
to-morrow.  *  *  *  *  Wonder  what  she  's  like  ?  Wind  *  *  *  * 
Violent  gusts  *  *  *  *  Candle  out.  Long  wick  and  sparks 
all  over  the  place.  Old  woman  burnt. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

BOVOR    IN    THE    EARLY    MORNING. — MEDLEVAL    NOTIONS. 
—  BREAKFAST.  —  A   PUZZLE. 

APPY  THOUGHT.  —  No  ghost  after  all:  and 
they  call  this  a  haunted  room.  I  don't  believe 
in  the  old  woman  who  was  burnt  to  death  here, 
unless  (as  a  Happy  Thought)  they  burnt  her 
ghost  into  the  bargain.  Note  for  Vol.  XI.  of  Typical  De- 
velopments, "  On  Popular  Superstitions. 

Always  wake  early  in  the  country,  and  always  expect  a 
nice  bright  morning  in  the  country.  Looking  at  the  weather 
from  my  bed,  I  should  say  it  drizzles.  I  don't  hear  anybody 
getting  up.  My  clothes  and  boots  have  not  been  taken  :  it 
must  be  very  early  or  very  late.  My  watch  is  on  the  table, 
—  can't  see  it  from  here.  1 1  must  be  very  early,  —  I  '11  lie 
in  bed  and  think.  *  *  *  *  Odd  :  I  was  quite  awake  a  min- 
ute ago.  *  *  *  *  I  '11  take  my  note-book  and  arrange  some 
work  for  the  day.  *  *  *  *  Put  note-book  on  pillow.  *  *  *  * 
Write  down  heading  Notes  for  Typical  Developments,  Vol. 
IX.  *  *  *  *  which  is  all  I  find  on  the  page  when  I  wake  up 
again  with  a  oalvanic  start.  Noise  in  court-yard  below ; 
jump  out ;  it  must  be  late  now. 

Frost  and  damp  on  the  glass  :  window  open :  it  looks  on 
to  the  court-yard.  Here,  in  mediaeval  times,  assembled  pil- 


i8o  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

grims,  retainers,  falconers,  barons,  knights,  ladies,  mitred 
abbots,  pages,  dogs  in  leashes,  and  good-looking  young 
men  coming  of  age  on  the  steps. 

"  By  my  halidome  !  gadso  ! "  quoth  the  shorter  of  the  two 
knights,  over  whose  fair  head  some  twenty-five  summers 
had  shed  their  something  or  other,  I  forget  what  now. 

Ah,  I  wish  I  'd  lived  then  !  On  thinking  over  it,  why  ? 
Chiefly,  I  think,  because  they  said  "  By  my  halidome,"  and 
"  zooks  "  and  "  the  merry  maskins,"  and,  generally,  because 
it  was  "  the  olden  time."  Ours  will  be  the  olden  time  one 
of  these  days.  Perhaps  this  very  room  will  be  exhibited  as 
the  place  where  the  author  of  Typical  Developments  slept. 
I  wish  this  would  happen  while  I  'm  alive,  though  :  how  it 
would  surprise  my  relations  ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Surprise  my  relations. 

I  will.  Get  on  with  Typical  Development  as  quickly  as 
possible.  I  feel  now  that  I  can  do  it.  I  will  dress  at  once : 
no  more  delay.  I  wish  to  goodness  I  could  get  my  clothes 
brushed ;  and  boots. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Picture  of  Norman  Baron  preparing 
for  the  chase.  Hang  it,  where 's  the  bath  ? 

Look  out  of  window :  drizzle  over.  Dull  :  housemaid 
kneeling  in  a  crinoline  cleaning  steps  of  portcullis  archway. 
Who  cleaned  the  steps  in  mediaeval  times  ?  Look  up,  sub- 
ject :  Housemaids,  when  first  introduced  ?  A  bumpkin  of  a 
boy  stands  under  the  archway,  cleaning  boots.  He  leaves 
off  to  draw  up  the  portcullis,  being  thereto  summoned  by 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  181 

the  baker  with  the  rolls,  and  I  hear  a  voice  say,  Muffins, 
outside. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Muffins.     Buttered. 

I  say,  "  Hallo  ! "  All  three  below  puzzled  :  perhaps  they 
can't  see  me.  Put  my  head  out :  boy  laughs,  —  so  does  the 
baker.  The  maid,  still  kneeling,  sits  on  her  heels,  and 
smiles  too.  I  think  (from  this  distance)  she  sniffs  :  cold 
morning.  I  say,  "  I  want  my  boots  cleaned,  please."  The 
baker,  who  evidently  does  n't  wish  to  be  mixed  up  with  the 
matter  at  all,  looks  at  the  boy.  The  boy  replies,  "  Yes, 
sir,"  takes  the  bearings  of  my  room,  cleverly  deducing  the 
locality  of  my  body  from  putting  this  and  that  together. 
This  being  the  head,  and  that  the  window. 

He  shuffles  towards  a  side  doorway  in  the  quadrangle. 
The  baker  says  something  of  an  amatory  character  to  the 
housemaid,  at  least  so  I  imagine  from  her  tossing  her  head 
in  an  "  Ah, -yes,- 1 -dare-say  "  sort  of  style,  as  she  resumes 
her  work,  while  the  gay  young  baker  walks  across  the  quad- 
rangle, disappearing,  after  one  look  back  at  the  house- 
maid, at  a  small  side-door.  Demoralizing  life  a  baker's  or 
a  butcher's,  if  he  has  to  call  at  many  houses  every  day. 
Might  crJl  them  butterfly  tradesmen,  sipping  the  sweets 
from  every  —  Come  in.  Boot-boy.  He  will  also  take  my 
clothes.  Mary,  he  explains,  however,  brushes  them.  Will 
he  be  good  enough  to  ask  Mr.  Englefield  if  he  '11  let  me 
have  the  bath?  He  will  be  good  enough,  and  goes. 

Happy   Thought.  —  "  Conferring  on  the  boy  the  order  of 


182  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

the  bath."  I  '11  say  this  at  breakfast.  Must  manage  to  in- 
troduce it  neatly.  Sheridan  used  to  arrange  a  lot  of  good 
things  before  he  went  out  to  dinner  (I  don't  know  if  he  said 
any  good  things  at  breakfast)  and  lead  up  to  them.  Note  it 
down,  or  I  shall  forget  it.  If  you  don't  note  it  down,  it 's  a 
nuisance  to  bother  yourself  all  day  with  trying  to  recol- 
lect what  that  good  thing  was  you  thought  of  in  the  morn- 
ing. Knock :  come  in.  Boy  and  bath,  with  Mr.  Engle- 
field's  compliments.  Dressing  *  *  *  *  Dress  anyhow  in 
the  country.  Can't :  ladies. 

Happy  Thoughts  while  Dressing.  —  One  ought  to  have  a 
secretary  in  one's  room  to  write  things  down  while  one  is 
dressing.  I  hum  tunes  when  brushing  my  hair,  which  are 
really  very  good,  if  some  one  could  only  catch  them  and  fix 
them  on  paper  at  the  moment.  I  wonder  how  many  com- 
posers are  lost  to  the  world  through  this.  I  'm  certain  I 
could  do  an  oratorio.  Hum  one,  I  mean  :  I  can't  write  it, 
or  play  it.  Oratorios  are  not  effective  with  one  finger  on 
the  piano.  I  find  that,  on  trying  to  pick  out  on  the  piano  any 
original  composition,  I  lose  the  tune  before  I  can  hit  upon 
the  notes.  Also  find  that  what  I  thought  was  original  some 
one  has  heard  before.  I  think  I  might  have  been  a  com- 
poser if  I  'd  never  heard  anybody  else's  tunes.  As  to  ar- 
ranging a  piece  for  an  orchestra,  that  would  be  easy  enough, 
as  I  can  imitate  most  instruments  with  my  mouth,  which 
would  show  any  practical  musician  what  effect  I  want,  and 
then  he  'd  do  it. 

Boy  comes  for  Englefield's  bath.     I  ask,  "  Is  any  one 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  183 

down  ?  "  and  am  told,  "  O  yes,  sir ;  Mrs.  Childers  is  break- 
fastin'." 

I  wish  they'd  ring  a  bell,  or  send  up  to  one's  room. 
Now  for  Mrs.  Childers. 

Awkward  stairs  —  find  my  way — came  through  this  hall 
last  night.  There  's  the  screen  —  here  's  the  door.  No. 
Suddenly  find  myself  in  the  court-yard.  See  warm-looking 
room  in  right  corner  of  quadrangle :  see  breakfast- table  : 
a  lady  eating,  and  a  man's  back,  seated,  and,  by  the  move- 
ment of  his  elbows,  eating. 

They  see  me  :  I  must  look  unconcerned,  as  if  I  was  up 
and  taking  the  air,  without  any  idea  that  breakfast  is  going 
on.  The  window  is  opened  by  Stenton,  the  rising  philoso- 
pher, who  says,  "  Good  morning."  I  ask  him  "  How  he 
is  ?  "  and  he  replies,  "  Come  in  at  this  door,  here  —  break- 
fast is  quite  ready." 

The  philosopher  is  dressed  in  knickerbockers  and  a 
shooting-coat,  and  has  his  hair  cut  like  a  Vandyke  child. 
This  strikes  me  as  original.  I  like  the  idea.  Now  I  shall 
see  what  Mrs.  Childers  is  like.  Walk  in  briskly  and 
smilingly.  Be  agreeable.  Show  her  that,  though  I  do 
write  on  deep  and  serious  subjects,  yet  there  is  a  lighter 
and  brighter  side  to  my  nature. 

In  the  Breakfast-Room.  —  There  are  two  ladies,  one  is 
making  the  tea,  the  other  the  chocolate  and  coffee.  It  is  a 
round  table,  so  there  is  no  top  or  bottom.  Which  is  Mrs. 
Childers  ?  Childers  is  not  down.  The  philosopher,  Sten- 
ton, has  to  introduce  me  to  them,  which  he  does  in  a  stupid 
fashion  of  his  own,  by  merely  mentioning  my  name  to  them, 


184  HAPPY  THOUGHTS 

and  not  theirs  to  me.  Which  is  Mrs.  Childers  ?  They 
are  both  blondes,  and  very  nearly  of  an  age.  Will  I 
have  tea?  I  will,  thanks.  Muffin?  with  hesitation  —  yes, 
thanks.  O  (chocolate-lady  hands  them),  pray  don't :  O, 
thanks,  thanks.  O  (to  tea-lady,  who  hands  tea),  thanks. 
Will  I  have  some  fish  or  some  broiled  ham  ?  Must  n't  be 
too  long  considering:  I  say  in  a  hurry,  "  Ham,  please,"  - 
meant  fish.  O,  thanks,  thanks.  To  the  philosopher  for  the 
butter,  to  the  chocolate-lady  for  the  mustard,  and  to  the  tea- 
lady  for  the  pepper,  Thanks,  thanks,  thanks.  Then  to  the 
three  collectively  for  everything,  "  O,  thanks."  I  should 
like  to  say  something  brilliant  now  at  once,  but  here  I  am, 
flustered  by  a  muffin. 

Happy  Thought  while  eating  Muffin.  —  They're  twins  : 
sisters.  Still,  this  does  n't  tell  me  which  is  Mrs.  Childers, 
and  I  want  to  ask  after  the  children. 

"  Am  I  looking  for  anything  ?  "  No  :  thanks.  I  am, 
though,  but  can't  make  out  what  it  is  ;  that 's  where  my 
want  of  presence  of  mind  bothers  me.  O,  it  's  a  small 
knife :  on  sideboard.  "  O,  don't  move,"  (to  every  one) 
"thanks,  thanks."  Note.  Must  get  out  of  this  habit  of 
saying  "Thanks":  it's  nervousness,  not  gratitude.  Be- 
sides, "  Thank  you  "  is  more  graceful.  Will  I  have  any 
more  tea  ?  If  you  please.  Finding  that  this  wish  of  mine 
involves  ringing  a  bell,  fresh  hot  water,  and  trouble  gen- 
erally, I  say,  "No  —  no  —  please  don't;  I'd  rather  have 
chocolate.  Thanks.  I  prefer,  I  assure  you,  I  prefer 
chocolate  '  Tea-lady  smiles,  and  says,  "  I  'm  sorry  there 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  185 

is  no  chocolate."  It  turns  out  to  be  cocoa.  I  meant  (I 
say)  cocoa  :  all  the  same  —  cocoa  and  chocolate.  Thanks. 
Philosopher  Stenton  says,  "  No,  it  is  n't,  —  quite  different." 
I  don't  want  a  discussion  before  ladies,  so  I  merely  observe, 
smilingly,  that  it  does  n't  matter.  Thanks.  I  think  I  've 
ingratiated  myself  so  far  with  whichever  is  Mrs.  Childers. 

Tea-lady  observes,  "  Mat  will  want  some  tea  directly  he 
comes  down." 

Happy  TJwught,  —  Mat  is  Childers,  —  this  is  Mrs. 
Childers.  I  say,  relying  upon  this,  "  This  is  a  very  quaint 
old  place,  Mrs.  Childers."  Having  said  it,  I  think  it  was  a 
little  rude  ;  ought  to  have  thought  of  that  before  speaking  : 
that  's  just  like  me,  —  me  to  the  ground,  in  fact.  The 
ladies  smile,  the  philosopher  smiles,  so  do  I,  but  am  un- 
comfortable. I  won't  try  names  again,  or  remarks  on 
where  your  host  lives  :  it  is  rude. 

Childers  appears  :  he  calls  tea-lady  Nelly,  which  makes 
me  think  I  was  right,  until  he  addresses  the  chocolate- lady 
as  Ally,  —  which  unsettle.;  me.  I  can't  keep  up  conversa- 
tion without  names.  Besides,  I  want  to  ask  after  the  chil- 
dren. Englefield  arrives,  very  lively,  and  nodding  at  me, 
and  is  called  Bobby  by  every  one.  Poss  Felmyr  (they  all 
call  him  Poss,  and  he  calls  the  ladies  Ally  and  Nelly,  so 
there  's  no  rule)  comes  down  shivering,  and  rubbing  his 
hands  ;  he  nods  at  me  encouragingly ;  they  all  nod  at  me, 
as  they  come  in,  encouragingly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Don't 
be  frightened,  —  it  's  all  right."  I  find  myself,  I  don't 
know  why,  nodding  back  in  the  same  style,  as  much  as  to 


186  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

assure  them,  "  Yes,  here  I  am,  all  right,  not  a  bit  fright- 
ened "  ;  but  I  'm  sure  I  should  n't  be  doing  this  if  I  only 
knew  which  was  Mrs.  Childers.  It  's  like  being  ignorant 
of  a  language.  They  are  all  Bob,  Mat,  Ally,  Nelly,  Poss, 
and  Jack  to  one  another.  They  can't  be  all  Childerses  of 
various  kinds  and  relationships. 

The  philosopher  solves  the  difficulty :  he  asks  Mat 
"  How  Mrs.  Childers  is  this  morning  ? "  To  which  Chil- 
ders replies,  "  Pretty  well,"  and  that  "  she 's  coming  down." 

Perhaps,  then,  Ally  and  Nelly  are  two  Miss  Childerses. 
I  won't  hazard  this  in  conversation,  though.  They  might 
be  any  of  the  other  fellows'  sisters,  as  they  are  all  Chris- 
tian names  to  one  another.  Breakfast  finished,  but  all 
waiting  for  Mrs.  Childers.  Children  with '  nurses  in  the 
court-yard. 

Childers,  in  character  of  papa,  looks  out  of  window. 
Fair-haired  child,  very  pretty,  runs  up. 

"  What  a  fine  boy,"  I  remark,  to  please  Childers. 

There  is  a  smile.  "  Girl,"  Childers  explains.  At  that 
moment  I  dislike  the  child.  [Analyzing  this  feeling  for 
Typical  Developments  subsequently,  I  ascertain  it  to  be  the 
result  of  humbled  pride.  I  had  said  the  girl  was  a  boy, 
and  he  was  a  girl.  Chapter  on  "  Insight  into  Character."] 

Nurses  call  children  off,  "like  a  huntsman  and  dogs."  I 
say  this  to  Childers,  by  way  of  a  sharp  simile,  which  will 
be  appreciated  by  clever  men.  I  fancy  I  'm  saying  rude 
things  this  morning.  I  wish  Mrs.  Childers  would  appear, 
and  I  should  be  on  safe  ground  again. 

The  door  opens :    it  is  Mrs.  Childers.     Elderly  lady,  — 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  187 

old  enough  to  be  Mat's  mother.  I  talk  to  her  at  once 
about  her  children.  She  smiles  graciously :  all  smile. 
Bob  Englefield  bursts  out  into  a  guffaw,  and  says  he  can't 
help  it.  Mat  Childers  explains,  — "  not  his  wife,  his 
mother." 

Bob  Englefield  shouts  out,  "  O,  have  n't  you  got  a  chance 
for  a  compliment"  I  laugh  foolishly,  I  feel  it 's  foolishly, 
and  say,  "  Yes,  I  have."  But  the  only  thing  I  can  think  of 
is  something  about  "  a  man  not  being  able  to  marry  his 
grandmother,"  which  I  don't  say,  thank  goodness.  But 
where  is  my  repartee  ?  That 's  where  I  fail.  What  ought 
I  to  have  said  ?  A  quarter  of  an  hour  after,  I  shall  think 
of  it :  provoking.  However,  I  now  find  that  the  tea-lady  is 
the  Mrs.  Childers. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Difficulty  of  relationship  settled.  Get 
particulars  from  Stenton. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

WORK    AT    BOVOR. — THE    WEATHER.  —  PROSPECTS. — 
LUNCHEON. 

ETTING  Stenton,  the  philosopher,  alone  by 
the  window,  I  find  it  all  out.  Mrs.  Childers  is 
Childers's  mother,  yes,  of  course.  I  say  "  Yes, 
of  course,"  as  if  I  'd  known  it  for  years.  Nelly 
is  Mrs.  Matthew  Childers.  "  Yes,"  I  say,  "  and  the  other 
is  her  sister."  I  am  wrong.  Ally  is  no  relation :  Ally  is 
Mrs.  Felmyr.  O,  now  I  see  it  all :  Poss  Felmyr  is  Mrs. 
Felmyr's  husband.  Stenton  further  explains  :  Bob  Engle- 
field  is  Poss  Felmyr's  brother-in-law,  and  Nelly  is  his, 
Stenton's,  the  philosopher's,  sister.  She  was  a  Miss  Sten- 
ton, and  the  other  was  a  Miss  Englefield,  and  that  Mrs. 
Felmyr  is  a  very  old  friend  of  Mrs.  Mat,  and  Mrs.  Childers 
has  known  her  from  a  child,  and  he  and  Bob  were  children 
together,  and  so  was  Mat  and  Old  Poss,  who  has  been 
brought  up  abroad,  "  and  so  they  get  on,"  he  says,  continu- 
ing what  he  calls  his  explanation,  "very  well  together,  more 
like  brothers  and  sisters."  "  And  mothers,"  I  suggest, 
thinking  of  Childers's  mother.  Childers  coming  up  at  this 
moment  seems  grave  ;  perhaps  he  thinks  I  was  sneering  at 
his  mother.  I  would  n't  sneer  at  a  mother  for  anything. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Not  to  say  anything  about  it  now  ;  ask 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  189 

him  quietly  afterwards  if  he  thought  I  was  insulting  his 
mother,  and  then  explain  that  I  was  n't  Good  fellow,  Mat. 
"  What  would  I  like  to  do  ? "  they  want  to  know.  Any- 
thing, I  return.  The  ladies  have  gone  to  their  household 
duties.  Bob  Englefield  is  busy  this  morning,  hard  at  work 
at  a  five-act  drama.  He  won't  tell  me  what  it  is  about. 
Stenton  informs  me  that  it's  about  Anne  Boleyn  and  Henry 
the  Eighth :  scene  laid  here,  in  Bovor  Castle.  Stenton  is 
also  hard  at  work  :  an  article  for  a  weekly  review.  ,  Childers 
whispers  to  me  The  Saturday.  Stenton  is  evidently  a 
superior  man.  May  I  ask  what  he  is  writing  for  that 
periodical.  He  smiles  mysteriously :  shakes  his  head,  and 
says,  "  O  no,  no,  Mat 's  joking."  I  see  by  his  manner  that 
he  does  write  for  the  .S".  R.  Will  ask  him  all  about  it  after- 
wards. Mat  tells  me  apart  that  Stenton 's  doing  an  article 
on  "  Henry  the  Eighth  and  Medievalism,"  —  in  fact,  about 
Bovor. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Write  for  the  Saturday  Review :  they 
need  n't  put  it  in,  but  I  can  smile  and  shake  my  head.  I 
wonder  if  the  contributors  to  that  paper  know  one  another 
by  sight?  or  by  any  masonic  signs  ?  If  they  do  I  should 
be  found  out  I  wish  I  could  find  out  Stenton. 

Poss  Felmyr  says,  looking  at  his  watch,  that  he  had  no 
idea  it  was  so  late,  and  must  get  to  work.  What  work  ? 
His  novel.  May  I  ask  what 's  the  story  ?  He  can't  say : 
send  me  a  copy  when  published.  Englefield  tells  me,  apart, 
that  it 's  to  be  called  Bovor,  and  is  about  Henry  the  Eighth 
and  Cardinal  Wiseman  —  he  means  Wolsey. 


190  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Mat  Childers  must  get  to  work  too.  What,  he  at  work  ?  I 
say  with  surprise.  All  laugh  except  Childers,  who,  I  think, 
does  n't  seem  pleased  at  my  remark.  Poss  Felmyr  takes 
me  aside  immediately  afterwards,  and  asked  me  didn't  I 
know  that  Mat  was  engaged  on  a  grand  historical  picture 
for  next  year's  Academy  ?  I  did  n't,  I  wish  I  had  :  in  fact, 
I  did  n't  know  he  painted.  What  ?  did  n't  I  hear  last  sea- 
son about  the  row  and  the  A.  R.  A.'s  ?  It  won't  do  to  go 
on  being  ignorant  of  these  sort  of  things,  so  I  say,  "  O, 
that"  as  if  he  'd  brought  it  all,  vividly,  to  my  recollec- 
tion now. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Get  an  almanac  or  something,  and 
see  who 's  President  of  the  Academy.  Ought  to  know 
these  things. 

It  seems  that  Mat  is  an  injured  man,  academically  speak- 
ing. I  will  condole  with  him,  if  he  likes  it.  What  is  the 
subject  of  his  picture  ?  I  ask  him.  Historical,  he  says. 
They  are  none  of  them  willing  to  enter  fully  into  their 
subjects.  Felmyr  takes  me  aside  and  informs  me  that  Mat 
is  painting  Bovor  Castle  in  the  Olden  Time,  and  is  portray- 
ing Anne  Boleyn  playing  on  the  dulcimer  to  Henry  the 
Eighth. 

Being  asked  what  I  'm  going  to  do,  I  reply,  as  they  're 
all  so  busy,  I  've  got  plenty  of  work  to  do,  and  commence 
giving  a  brief  outline  of  Typical  Developments,  its  scope, 
subject,  and  object.  This  is  to  impress  them,  and  to  show 
them  that  I  am  not  a  mere  idle  lounger,  but  an  artist,  one 
of  themselves.  They  are  not  much  interested  in  my  work. 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  191 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  Future  :  I  '11  astonish  them. 
One  day  they  '11  be  cringing  to  me  for  a  copy  of  Typical 
Developments. 

Mat  wants  to  know,  if,  before  I  go  to  work,  I  'd  like  to 
see  the  Castle.  I  should,  but  don't  let  me  take  him  away 
from  his  work.  Not  in  the  least :  they  '11  all  show  me  over. 
We  take  umbrellas  (it  is  raining)  and  look  at  the  moat. 
The  moat  is  swollen  and  has  risen.  If  it  goes  on  like  this, 
says  Mat,  the  baker  will  have  to  come  in  a  punt.  The 
water  will  be  over  the  drawbridge  and  into  the  Castle. 
They  show  me  the  piggery ;  there  are  no  pigs.  And  the 
orchard  ;  no  apples  to  speak  of.  They  show  me  a  fine  old 
room  with  painted  panelled  ceiling  and  side  gallery. 
Englefield,  who,  Mat  informs  me,  is  an  authority  on  these 
matters,  says  that  this  was  the  old  Chapel.  We  (none  of 
us)  think  it  could  have  been  the  chapel,  because  of  the  fire- 
place. Then,  says  Englefield,  positively,  it  was  the  Re- 
fectory. Refectories,  says  Mat  Childers,  were  only  in 
monasteries.  1  chime  in,  "  Yes,  only  in  monasteries." 
Englefield  is  positive  that  it  must  have  been  the  chapel  or 
the  refectory,  or,  after  some  consideration,  the  armory. 
"  But,"  objects  Poss,  "  they  would  n't  have  had  that  sort  of 
window."  Englefield  says,  "  Why  not  ?  "  which  is  treated 
as  an  absurd  question ;  whereupon  he  suggests  that  it 's  the 
Hall.  "  No,"  says  Stenton,  "  the  other 's  the  Hall."  They 
all  agree  with  Stenton,  "  O  yes,  the  other 's  the  Hall."  I 
say,  "  Yes,  I  think  the  other 's  the  Hall,"  meaning  the  place 
I  came  through  last  night,  where  Bob  Englefield  looked 
through  a  window  in  the  screen  at  me.  Englefield,  after 


192  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

looking  at  the  chamber  for  a  minute  longer,  says  with 
certainty,  "This  was  two  rooms  once,"  and  we  leave  him 
there  regarding  the  chamber  sorrowfully. 

Mat  then  takes  us  up  winding  stone  stairs  to  top  of 
tower.  I  think,  while  going  up,  what 's  the  best  way  of 
coming  down  again  without  feeling  giddy :  sideways,  like 
a  horse  down  hill.  On  the  roof.  I  always  thought  castle 
roofs  were  flat,  and  that  warders  with  Carbonels  (am  not 
sure  of  the  word,  so  won't  say  it)  walked  up  and  down. 
This  castle  roof  is  like  any  roof  on  an  ordinary  second-rate 
London  house  ;  very  disappointing.  In  fact,  but  for  the 
name  of  the  thing,  it  is  simply  being  "  on  the  leads."  There 
is  no  view,  as  Bovor  lies  in  a  valley,  and  is  hemmed  in  by 
hills.  If  they  were  snow  mountains  it  would  be  grand,  but 
they're  only  spongy-looking  green  hills.  There  are  no 
gargoyles  to  discharge  the  rain.  I  want  to  know  which  is 
a  bastion  ?  Englefield,  who  is  an  authority  on  all  these 
snbjects,  as  he  is  getting  them  up  for  his  historical  drama, 
does  n't  know  what  a  bastion  is,  but  shows  me  a  gable.  I 
want  to  know  where  the  Donjon  Keep  is  ?  It  appears  it 
hasn't  got  one.  What  a  castle  !  Englefield,  however,  says 
that  it 's  one  of  the  few  in  England  that  have  a  barbican. 
"  Don't  I  know  what  a  barbican  is  ?  "  "  Well,  we  can't 
see  it  from  here,  but  it's  a  —  sort  of — it's  difficult,"  he 
says,  "  to  describe  exactly,  but  surely  I  must  know  what  a 
barbican  is."  I  answer,  "  Of  course,  I  Ve  seen  one  often 
enough  ;  but  I  don't  exactly  know  what  it  is."  WTith  this 
answer  he  seems  satisfied,  as  he  merely  returns,  "  O,  of 
course  you  do,"  and  volunteers  no  further  explanation 
about  the  barbican. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  193 

Happy  Thought.  —  There 's  a  barbican  in  London,  some- 
where. Where  ?  Wonder  if  I  've  seen  it  ?  If  not,  go  and 
see  it. 

"  Some  of  the  passages,  here,"  says  Englefield,  as  we 
descend,  "  are  beautifully  corbelled."  I  am  getting  tired  ;  I 
hate  sight-seeing,  and  having  knowledge  thrust  on  me,  so  I 
merely  reply,  "  Yes,  beautiful,"  and  nearly  fall  down  the 
winding  stairs.  Bob  Englefield,  on  the  drawbridge,  shows 
me  what  he  calls  a  first-rate  idea  for  a  scene.  Troops  pour- 
ing out  from  under  the  Norman  arch,  enemy  coming  down 
on  them  from  the  heights  ;  the  fair  Thingummy,  Alice, 
Anyone,  he  says,  a  prisoner,  waving  her  hand  from  the 
turret,  while  the  tyrant  is  below  ready  to  despatch  her. 
"Good  that,"  he  says,  appealing  to  me,  "and  original,  eh  ?" 
I  say,  "  Yes,  very  original."  But  on  consideration  I  suggest 
to  him  diffidently,  "  Is  n't  it  a  little  like  Blue-Beard?"  He 
says,  "  O,  if  you  turn  everything  into  ridicule  —  why — ." 
I  think  he  's  annoyed.  We  meet  Mat,  Jack  Stenton,  and 
Poss.  They  've  none  of  them  been  to  work  yet ;  they  all 
say  they  must  go,  at  once,  as  it 's  getting  so  late.  Mat 
asks  Englefield  if  he 's  shown  me  the  machicolated  battle- 
ments. Bob  says  no,  rather  sulkily.  Odd,  he  can't  get 
over  Blue-Beard.  I  say  I  don't  care  about  machicolated 
battlements.  Well,  we  '11  leave  them  till  to-morrow.  By 
all  means  —  till  to-morrow.  They  say  they  are  going  to 
work  in  earnest  now,  till  luncheon-time.  One  hour. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Write  some  letters.  Ask  when  the 
post  goes  out. 

9  M 


194  HAPPY  THOUGHTS. 

Childers  says,  "  O,  not  till  night,"  that  is,  he  explains, 
not  the  regular  post.  From  which  I  gather  that  there  is  an 
irregular  post  which  goes  out  in  the  day.  I  am  right ;  the 
irregular  post  is  the  butcher.  He  comes  from  Beckenhurst, 
and,  to  oblige  us,  will  post  any  letters  before  2  p.  M.  at 
Beckenhurst.  The  only  thing  against  the  butcher  is,  that 
he 's  rather  uncertain  on  account  of  his  pockets.  If  my 
letter  is  not  very  important  I  'd  better  send  it  by  the  usual 
post.  If  it  was  very  important  I  certainly  should  n't  intrust 
it  to  the  butcher.  There  's  no  sort  of  necessity  for  my  let- 
ter to  go  by  an  early  post,  but  the  fact  that  there  is  only  a 
late  one  seems  to  cause  me  a  great  deal  of  inconvenience. 
Why  ?  Analyze  this  feeling  for  Vol.  XII.  Typical  Develop- 
ments, Sec.  2,  Par.  3. 

We  meet  at  luncheon-time :  it  is  still  raining.  The  ladies 
regret  that  we  're  running  into  winter,  because  there  's  no 
more  croquet.  Mrs.  Mat  Childers  says  if  the  rain  continues 
the  feudal  castle  will  be  swamped.  Mrs.  Felmyr  says  she  '11 
be  glad  to  get  back  to  town  ;  it 's  so  damp.  Poss  Felmyr 
says,  "  Pooh  !  they  came  down  to  rough  it."  Childers  sides 
with  him.  There  's  a  row  threatening :  awkward  for  a  vis- 
itor. Mrs.  Childers  asks  me  if  I  think  it 's  fair  to  keep  her 
down  in  this  dismal  place  all  the  season,  and  only  to  return 
to  town  when  nobody 's  there  ?  I  feel  that  Childers's  hap- 
piness in  private  life  will  materially  depend  upon  my  answer, 
but  I  can't  help  agreeing  with  Mrs.  Childers.  If  I  knew 
her  better  I  wouldn't,  as  I  hold  with  Mat's  view  of  the 
case,  —  picturesque  feudal  castle,  rustic  scenery,  versus  town 
house  and  right-angled  streets.  I  shall  explain  to  Childers 
afterwards  that  I  only  said  it  to  please  his  wife.  [When  I 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  19$ 

do  tell  him  afterwards,  he  says,  testily,  that  "  he  can't  under- 
stand how  a  man  can  be  such  a  humbug,"  having  evidently 
had  a  scene  with  Mrs.  Childers  in  consequence  of  my 
observation.] 

Poss  wants  to  know  if  I  'd  take  a  waik  in  the  rain.  For 
exercise,  I  will.  Stenton  stops  at  home  to  do  something 
with  some  photographs  he 's  been  taking.  When  he  's  not 
writing  for  a  review,  he  's  always  going  in  and  out  of  the 
back  kitchen  with  wooden  frames,  glasses,  and  slips  of 
damp  paper.  When  there 's  a  sun  he  holds  glasses  up  to 
it  He  shows  me  views  of  Bovor,  and  portraits  on  damp 
glass,  with  a  backing  of  coat-sleeve.  He  says  I  can't  see 
them  now.  He  's  right.  When  in  the  back  kitchen,  which 
is  a  dark  place,  one  may  just  catch  a  glimpse  of  him  stirring 
up  wet  photographs  in  a  large  red  pie-dish.  [His  pictures 
are  always  "  getting  on,"  or  "  coming  out  very  well,"  but 
they  don't  come  out  of  the  pie-dish,  at  least  while  I  'm  here.] 
He  offers  to  take  one  of  me. 

Happy  Thought.  — To  be  taken  with  MS.  of  Typical 
Developments  in  my  hand. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  get  an  expression  on  my  face 
which  shall  be  neither  a  scowl  nor  a  grin.  To  be  taken 
to-morrow.  Walk  now  —  in  the  rain. 

Happy  Thought. — When  difficulty  occurs  between  hus- 
band and  wife  (as  between  Mat  and  Mrs.  Childers  to-day), 
and  they  make  me  referee  by  implication,  to  invent  an  anec- 
dote indirectly  bearing  upon  the  case,  and  tell  it.  It  gives 
all  three  breathing-time. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

AT  BOVOR.  —  PLAY  A  GREAT  GAME  OF  WHIST. 

VENING  after  dinner.  On  the  moat  in  a  punt 
with  Englefield.  Dark  night :  cold :  damp  :  ro- 
mantic but  for  this.  Englefield  says,  abruptly, 
"  Capital  point."  I  ask  here,  what  ?  He  re- 
plies, "Two  fellows,  one  the  Villain,  the  other  Injured 
Innocence,  in  punt :  real  water  easily  done  on  the  stage. 
Villain  suddenly  knocks  Injured  Innocence  into  the  water: 
he  sinks  :  is  caught  in  the  weeds  below  :  never  rises  again. 
Or,  on  second  thought,  is  n't  drowned,  but  turns  up  some- 
how in  the  last  Act."  I  own  it  a  good  idea,  and  propose 
going  in-doors,  as  I  see  Mrs.  Childers  making  tea. 

In-doors.  —  Stenton,  the  philosopher,  says,  "  Tea  is  an 
incentive.  So  much  tea  is  found  in  every  man's  brain." 
Poss  says  it  ought  to  be  a  caution  to  anybody  not  to  use 
hot  water  to  his  face,  or  he  might  turn  his  head  into  a  tea- 
pot. I  'm  sorry  Poss  turns  this  interesting  theme  into 
ridicule,  as  I  like  hearing  Stenton's  conversation.  He  has 
a  deep  bass  voice  which  is  very  impressive.  There  is  a 
pause.  Considering  that  we  are  all  more  or  less  clever 
here,  it  is  wonderful  how  dull  we  are.  I  suppose  that  the 
truth  is  we  avoid  merely  frivolous  and  commonplace  topics. 
Englefield,  who  is  a  nuisance  sometimes,  suddenly  looks  at 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  197 

me,  and  asks  me  "  to  say  something  funny."    I  'm  glad  they 
know  nothing  of  the  Pig-squeaking  song. 

I  smile  on  him  pityingly.  Childers  says,  "  Come,  you  're 
last  from  town,  have  n't  you  got  any  good  stories  ?  "  This 
poses  me  :  I  know  fellows  who  could  recollect  a  hundred. 
I  know  fellows,  merely  superficial,  shallow  men,  who  are 
never  silent,  who  have  a  story  or  a  joke  for  everything.  I 
consider,  "  Let  me  see  "  :  I  try  to  think  of  one.  The  be- 
ginnings of  twenty  stories  occur  to  me  mistily.  Also 
the  commencement  of  riddles  as  far  as  "  Why  is  a  — ," 
or  "  When  is  a  — ,"  I  've  got  some  noted  down  in  my 
pocket-book,  if  I  could  only  get  out  of  the  room  and 
refer  to  it  quietly  in  the  passage.  I  can't  take  it  out 
before  everybody ;  that  's  the  worst  of  an  artificial  mem- 
ory. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  read  two  pages  of  Macmillan's 
Jest  Book  every  morning  while  dressing,  committing  at 
least  one  story  to  memory. 

Childers  proposes  "  Whist."  I  never  feel  certain  of  my- 
self at  whist :  I  point  to  the  fact  that  there  are  four  without 
me.  Poss  Felmyr  says  if  I  '11  sit  down  he  '11  cut  in  pres: 
ently.  "I  play?  "  I  reply,  "Yes,  a  little."  I  am  Stenton's 
partner :  Englefield  and  Childers  are  against  us.  Sixpenny 
points,  shilling  on  the  rub.  Stenton  says  to  me,  "  You  'li 
score."  Scoring  always  puzzles  me.  I  know  it's  done 
with  half  a  crown,  a  shilling,  a  sixpence,  and  a  silver  can- 
dlestick. Sometimes  one  bit  of  money  is  under  the  candle- 
stick, sometimes  two. 


198  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  watch  Englefield  scoring :  soon 
pick  it  up  again. 

First  Rubber.  —  Stenton  deals :  Childers  is  first  hand, 
I  'm  second.  Hearts  trumps  :  the  Queen.  It 's  wonderful 
how  quick  they  are  in  arranging  their  cards.  After  I  've 
sorted  all  mine  carefully,  I  find  a  trump  among  the  clubs. 
Having  placed  him  in  his  position  on  the  right  of  my  hand, 
I  find  a  stupid  Three  of  Clubs  among  the  spades :  settled 
him.  Lastly,  a  King  of  Diamonds  upside  down,  which 
seems  to  entirely  disconcert  me ;  put  him  right.  Englefield 
says,  "  Come,  be  quick  "  :  Stenton  tells  me  "  not  to  hurry 
myself."  I  say  I  'm  quite  ready,  and  wonder  to  myself 
what  Childers  will  lead. 

Childers  leads  the  Queen  of  Clubs.  I  consider  for  a 
moment  what  is  the  duty  of  second  hand ;  the  word  "  finess- 
ing "  occurs  to  me  here.  I  can't  recollect  if  putting  on  a 
three  of  the  same  suit  is  finessing :  put  on  the  three,  and 
look  at  my  partner  to  see  how  he  likes  it.  He  is  watching 
the  table.  Englefield  lets  it  go,  my  partner  lets  it  go  ;  the 
trick  is  Childers's.  I  feel  that  somehow  it 's  lost  through 
my  fault.  His  lead  again  :  spades.  This  takes  me  so  by 
surprise  that  I  have  to  rearrange  my  hand,  as  the  spades 
have  got  into  a  lump.  I  have  two  spades,  an  ace  and  a 
five.  Let  me  see,  "  If  I  play  the  five  I  —  "I  can't  see  the 
consequence.  "If  I  play  the  ace  it  must  win  unless  it's 
trumped."  Stenton  says  in  a  deep  voice,  "  Play  away." 
The  three  look  from  one  to  the  other.  Being  flustered,  I 
play  the  ace :  the  trick  is  mine.  I  wish  it  was  n't,  as  I 
have  to  lead.  I  'd  give  something  if  I  might  consult  Poss, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  199 

who  is  behind  me,  or  my  partner.  All  the  cards  look  ready 
for  playing,  yet  I  don't  like  to  disturb  them.  Let  me  think 
what 's  been  played  already.  Stenton  asks  me,  "  If  I  'd 
like  to  look  at  the  last  trick  ?  "  As  this  will  give  me  time, 
and  them  the  idea  that  I  am  following  out  my  own  peculiar^ 
tactics,  I  embrace  the  offer.  Childers  displays  the  last 
trick.  I  look  at  it.  I  say  "  Thank  you,"  and  he  shuts  it 
up  again.  Immediately  afterwards  I  can't  recollect  what 
the  cards  were  in  that  trick :  if  I  did  it  would  n't  help  me. 
They  are  becoming  impatient. 

About  this  time  somebody's  Queen  of  Diamonds  is  taken. 
I  was  n't  watching  how  the  trick  went,  but  I  am  almost  cer- 
tain it  was  fatal  to  the  Queen  of  Diamonds  :  that 's  to  say, 
if  it  was  the  Queen  of  Diamonds  ;  but  I  don't  like  to  ask. 
The  next  trick,  which  is  something  in  spades,  trumped  by 
Englefield,  I  pass  as  of  not  much  importance.  Stenton 
growls,  "  Did  n't  I  see  that  he  'd  got  no  more  spades  in  his 
hand."  No,  I  own  I  did  n't  Stenton,  who  is  not  an  en- 
couraging partner,  grunts  to  himself.  In  a  subsequent 
round,  I  having  lost  a  trick  by  leading  spades,  Stenton  calls 
out,  "  Why,  did  n't  you  see  they  were  trumping  spades  ?  " 
I  defend  myself ;  I  say  I  did  see  him,  Englefield,  trump  one 
spade,  but  I  thought  that  he  had  n't  any  more  trumps.  I 
say  this  as  if  I  'd  been  reckoning  the  cards  as  they  've  been 
played. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Try  to  reckon  them,  and  play  by  sys- 
tem next  rubber. 

I  keep  my  trumps  back  till  the  last ;  they  '11  come  out  and 


200  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

astonish  them.  They  do  come  out,  and  astonish  me.  Being 
taken  by  surprise,  I  put  on  my  king  when  I  ought  to  have 
played  the  knave,  and  both  surrender  to  the  ace  and  queen. 
I  say,  "  Dear  me,  how  odd  !  "  I  think  I  hear  Stenton  say- 
ing sarcastically  in  an  undertone,  "  O  yes  ;  confoundedly 
odd."  I  try  to  explain,  and  he  interrupts  me  at  the  end  of 
the  last  deal  but  two  by  saying  testily,  "  It 's  no  use  talking, 
if  you  attend,  we  may  just  save  the  odd." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Save  the  odd. 

My  friend,  the  Queen  of  Diamonds,  who,  I  thought,  had 
been  played,  and  taken  by  some  one  or  other  at  a  very  early 
period  of  the  game,  suddenly  reappears  out  of  my  partner's 
hand,  as  if  she  was  part  of  a  conjuring  trick.  Second  hand 
can't  follow  suit  and  can't  trump.  I  think  I  see  what  he 
intends  me  to  do  here.  I  Ve  a  trump  and  a  small  club. 
"  When  in  doubt,"  I  recollect  the  infallible  rule,  "  play  a 
trump."  I  don't  think  any  one  expected  this  trump.  Good 
play. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Trump.  I  look  up  diffidently ;  my 
partner  laughs,  so  do  the  others.  My  partner's  is  not  a 
pleasant  laugh.  I  can't  help  asking,  "  Why  ?  is  n't  tint 
right:  it's  ours?"  "O  yes,"  says  my  partner,  sarcasti- 
cally, "  it  is  ours."  "  Only,"  explains  little  Bob  Englefield, 
"  you  Ve  trumped  your  partner's  best  card." 

I  try  again  to  explain  that  by  my  computation,  the  Queen 
of  Diamonds  had  been  played  a  long  time  ago.  My  partner 
won't  listen  to  reason.  He  replies,  "  You  might  have  seen 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  2OI 

that  it  was  n't."  I  return,  "  Well,  it  could  n't  be  helped, 
we  '11  win  the  game  yet."  This  I  add  to  encourage  him, 
though,  if  it  depends  on  me,  I  honestly  (to  myself)  don't 
think  we  shall.  Happy  Thought.  —  After  all,  we  do  get  the 
odd  trick.  Stenton  ought  to  be  in  a  better  humor,  but  he 
is  n't ;  he  says  "  The  odd  !  we  ought  to  have  been  three." 
Englefield  asks  me  how  honors  are  ?  I  dpn't  know.  Sten- 
ton says,  "  Why,  you  (meaning  me)  had  two  in  your  own 
hand."  "  O  yes,  I  had."  I  'd  forgotten  it.  "  Honors  easy," 
says  Stenton  to  me.  I  agree  with  him.  Now  I  've  got  to 
score  with  this  confounded  shilling,  sixpence,  half-crown, 
and  a  candlestick. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  Bob  Englefied  how  he  scores 
generally. 

He  replies,  "  O,  the  usual  way,"  and  as  he  does  n't  illus- 
trate his  meaning,  his  reply  is  of  no  use  to  me  whatever. 
How  can  I  find  out  without  showing  them  that  I  don't 
know  ? 

Happy  Thought  (while  Childers  deals).  —  Pretend  to  for- 
get to  score  till  next  time.  Englefield  will  have  to  do  it, 
perhaps,  next  time,  then  watch  Englefield.  Just  as  I  'm 
arranging  my  cards  from  right  to  left  — • 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  alternate  the  colors  black  and  red, 

beginning  this  time  with  black  (right)  as  spades  are  trumps. 

Also  to  arrange  them  in  their  rank  and  order  of  precedence. 

Ace  on  the  right,  if  I  've  got  one  —  yes  —  king  next,  queen 

9* 


202  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

next,  —  and  the  hand  begins  to  look  very  pretty.  I  can 
quite  imagine  Whist  being  a  fascinating  game,  —  Stenton 
reminds  me  that  I  've  forgotten  to  mark  "  one  up." 

Happy  Thoiight.  —  Put  sixpence  by  itself  on  my  left  hand. 
Stenton  asks  "  What 's  that  for  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say  it 's  the  way  I  always  mark. 

Stenton  says,  "  O,  go  on."  I  look  round  to  see  what 
we  're  waiting  for,  and  Englefield  answers  me,  "  Go  on,  it 's 
you  ;  you  're  first  hand."  I  beg  their  pardon.  I  must  play 
some  card  or  other  and  finish  arranging  my  hand  during 
the  round.  Anything  will  do  to  begin  with.  Here's  a 
Two  of  Spades,  a  little  one,  on  my  left  hand ;  throw  him 
out. 

"  Hallo  !  "  cries  Englefield,  second  hand,  "  trumps  are 
coming  out  early."  I  quite  forgot  spades  were  trumps  ; 
that  comes  of  that  horrid  little  card  being  on  the  left  instead 
of  the  right. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Not  to  show  my  mistake  :  nod  at 
Englefield,  and  intimate  that  he  '11  see  what 's  coming. 

So,  by  the  way,  will  my  partner.  In  a  polite  moment  I 
accept  another  cup  of  tea.  I  don't  want  it,  and  have  to 
put  it  by  the  half-crown,  shilling,  and  candlestick  on  the 
whist-table,  where  I  'm  afraid  of  knocking  it  over,  and  am 
obliged  to  let  it  get  quite  cold  as  I  have  to  attend  to  the 
game. 

Happening  to  be  taking  a  spoonful,  with  my  eyes  anxiously 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  203 

on  the  cards,  when  my  turn  comes,  Stenton  says,  "Do  play 
never  mind  your  tea."  Whist  brutalizes  Stenton  :  what  a 
pity ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Send  this  game,  as  a  problem,  to  a 
Sporting  Paper. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Why  not  write  generally  for  Sporting 
papers  ? 

Stenton  says,  "  Do  play  !  "     I  do. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Write  a  Treatise  on  Whist,  so  as  to 
teach  myself  the  game. 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 

FINISHING    THE    RUBBER.  —  NEW   GAME.  —  CONVERSATION 


E  finish  a  second  game,  and  Stenton  says,  "  \VX 
win  a  single."  This  I  am  to  score :  having 
some  vague  idea  on  the  subject,  I  hide  my  half- 
crown  under  the  candlestick.  When  our  adver- 
saries subsequently  win  a  double,  and  there  is  some  dispute 
about  what  we  Ve  done  before,  I  forget  my  half-crown  under 
the  candlestick,  until  asked  rather  angrily  by  Stenton  if  I 
did  n't  mark  the  single,  when  I  am  reminded  by  Poss  Fel- 
myr  that  I  secreted  the  half-crown.  This  I  produce  tri- 
umphantly as  a  proof  of  a  single. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Buy  Hoyle's  Laws  of  Whist.  Every 
one  ought  to  know  how  to  mark  up  a  single  and  a  double. 

I  get  very  tired  of  whist  after  the  second  round  of  the 
third  game.  Wish  I  could  feel  faint,  so  that  Poss  Felmyr 
might  take  my  place  ;  or  have  a  violent  fit  of  sneezing  which 
would  compel  me  to  leave  the  room. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  you  give  your  mind  to  it,  you  can 
sneeze  sometimes.  I  talk  about  draughts  and  sneezing, 
while  Englefield  deals.  Englefield  says,  apropos  of  sneezing, 
that  he  knew  a  man  who  always  caught  a  severe  cold  when- 
ever he  ate  a  walnut.  If  a  fact :  curious. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  205 

Old  Mrs.  Childers  has  woke  up  (she  has  been  dozing  by 
the  fire  with  her  knitting  on  the  ground)  and  begins  "  to 
take  notice,"  as  they  say  of  babies.  She  will  talk  to  me  : 
I  can't  attend  to  her  and  trumps  at  the  same  time.  I  think 
she  says  that  she  supposes  I  've  a  great  deal  of  practice  in 
whist-playing  at  the  Clubs.  I  say,  "  Yes  ;  I  mean,  beg  her 
pardon,  no,"  and  Stenton  asks  me,  before  taking  up  the 
trick,  if  I  have  n't  got  a  heart,  that  being  the  suit  I  had  to 
follow.  I  reply,  "  No,"  and  my  answer  appears  to  disturb 
the  game.  On  hearts  coming  up  three  hands  afterwards,  I 
find  a  two  of  that  suit,  which,  being  sticky,  had  clung  to  a 
Knave  of  Diamonds. 

Happy  Thought.  —  "  Heart  clinging  to  Diamonds  "  ;  love 
yielding  to  the  influence  of  wealth  ;  or  by  the  way,  vice 
•versa,  but  good  idea,  somehow.  Won't  say  it  out,  or  they  '11 
discover  my  revoke. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Keep  the  two  until  the  end  of  the 
game,  and  throw  it  down  among  the  rubbish  at  the  end.  I 
suppose  the  last  cards  which  players  always  dash  down 
don't  count,  and  mine  will  go  with  them  unobserved. 

Happy  Thought.  —  One  act  of  duplicity  necessitates  an- 
other, just  as  one  card  will  not  stand  upright  by  itself 
without  another  to  support  it.  [Put  this  into  "  Moral 
Inversions,"  forming  heading  of  Chapter  10,  Book  VI., 
Vol.  XII.  of  Typical  Developments.  Must  note  this  down 
to-night.] 


206  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

The  game  is  finishing.  Luckily,  our  opponents  have  it 
all  their  own  way,  and  suddenly,  much  to  my  surprise  and 
relief,  they  show  their  hands  and  win,  we  only  having  made 
one  trick. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Poss  Felmyr  takes  my  place. 

On  reckoning  up  I  find  that  somehow  or  other  I  Ve  lost 
half  a  crown  more  than  I  expected.  You  can  lose  a  good 
deal  at  sixpenny  points.  Stenton,  who  hears  this  remark 
made  to  Mrs.  Childers,  observes,  "  Depends  how  you  play." 
I  do  not  retort,  as  I  am  fearful  about  the  subject  of  revoking 
coming  up.  Moral  Query.  —  Was  what  I  did  with  my  Two 
of  Hearts  dishonesty  or  nervousness  ?  Would  n't  it  lead 
to  cheating,  to  false  dice,  and  ultimately  to  the  Old  Bailey  ? 
I  put  these  questions  to  myself  while  eating  a  delicate 
piece  of  bread-and-butter  handed  to  me  by  Mrs.  Felmyr. 
I  smile  and  thank  her,  even  while  these  thoughts  are  in  my 
bosom.  Ah,  Bob  Englefield  has  no  such  stage  for  his 
dramas  as  the  human  bosom,  no  curtain  that  hides  half  as 
much  from  the  spectators  as  a  single-breasted  waistcoat. 
More  tea,  thank  you.  yes. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Single-breasted  waistcoat !  Ah,  who 
is  single-breasted  ?  Is  that  the  fashion !  [Note  all  this 
down  in  cipher  in  my  book,  "  Moral  Inversion  "  chapter, 
Typical  Developments.} 

I  pick  up  old  Mrs.  Childers's  knitting.  I  take  this  oppor- 
tunity of  saying,  jocosely,  that  I  suppose  that 's  what  ladies 
call  "dropping  a  stitch."  No  one  hears  it,  except  the  old 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  207 

lady,  who  does  n't  understand  it.  I  shall  repeat  this  another 
day  when  they  're  not  playing  cards,  or  talking  together,  as 
the  ladies  are. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  tell  it  as  one  of  Sheridan's  good 
things.  Then  they  '11  laugh. 

Old  Mrs.  Childers  says  she  thinks  the  moat's  rising,  and 
that  the  baker  will  have  to  come  over  in  the  punt  Childers, 
at  the  table,  says,  "  Nonsense,  mother."  She  appeals  to  me 
as  to  whether  it  is  n't  damp,  and  whether  the  rain  won't 
make  the  moat  rise  ?  And  do  I  think,  from  what  I  've  seen 
of  it,  that  the  punt  is  safe  for  the  baker  ?  Yes,  I  do  think 
so.  She  observes  that  I  'm  too  young  to  have  rheumatism, 
or  suffer  from  cold  in  the  ears.  I  don't  know  why  I  should 
feel  offended  at  the  old  lady's  remark,  but  I  do.  I  feel  in- 
clined to  say  (rudely-,  if  she  was  n't  so  old)  that  I  'm  not  too 
young,  and  have  had  the  rheumatics :  the  latter  proudly. 
She  dares  say  I  don't  remember  the  flood  there  was  in 
Leicestershire  in  1812!  No,  I  don't:  "Was  it  bad?" 
I  ask  —  not  that  I  care,  but  I  like  to  be  respectful  to  old 
ladies.  "  Ah  !  "  she  replies,  shaking  her  head  slowly  at  the 
fire,  as  if  it  was  its  fault  I  get  nothing  more  out  of  her 

Mrs.  Childers  is  working  something  for  the  children. 
Mrs.  Poss  asks  about  a  peculiar  sort  of  trimming  for  her 
dress.  Mrs.  Childers  stops  to  explain,  and  point  her  re- 
marks with  the  scissors.  They  are  deep  in  congenial  sub- 
jects, and  don't  mind  me.  No  more  does  old  Mrs.  Childers, 
who  has  dropped  her  knitting,  and  is  asleep  again,  quite 
upright,  in  her  chair. 


208  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  ask  the  ladies  to  play  on  the  piano. 

It  will  disturb  the  game,  Mrs.  Childers  thinks.  Two  of 
the  players  seem  of  the  same  opinion,  but  they  're  losing, 
I  discover.  The  two  others  are  smiling,  and  would  like  a 
tune  to  enliven  them.  Childers  calls  out  "  Mother  !  "  loudly, 
which  makes  the  old  lady  wake  with  a  start,  and  on  finding 
that  the  moat  has  not  risen  and  that  the  baker  has  n't  come 
in  the  punt  ("which  she  was  dreaming  of,  curious  enough," 
she  says),  she  begs  Mat  not  to  call  like  that  again,  and 
I  pick  up  her  knitting  for  her.  She  thanks  me,  and  asks 
if  I  recollect  the  great  floods  in  Leicestershire  in  1812. 
I  reply,  as  I  did  before,  that  I  don't.  It  leads  to  no  infor- 
mation. Wonder  how  old  she  is  ? 

She  rises,  and  thinks,  my  dears,  that  it  is  time  for  Bed- 
fordshire, which  is  her  little  joke ;  she  gives  it  us  every 
night  at  exactly  the  same  time,  and  in  exactly  the  same 
manner.  It  always  commands  a  laugh.  The  ladies  did  n't 
know  it  was  so  late,  and  put  up  their  work,  hoping  I  '11 
excuse  them  not  playing  this  evening.  They  're  afraid 
I  've  found  it  very  dull. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say,  "  More  dull  when  you  're 
away."  Just  stopped  in  time,  and  turned  it  off  with  a 
laugh  and  a  good  night.  I  must  have  looked  as  if  I  was 
going  to  say  something,  as  Mrs.  Poss  says,  "What  ?"  and 
I  reply,  "O,  nothing,"  vaguely,  and  she  laughs,  and  I  laugh, 
and  Mrs.  Childers  laughs,  and  says  good  night  laughing, 
and  old  Mrs.  Childers  smiles  and  repeats  her  joke  about 
Bedfordshire,  which  she  evidently  thinks  we  are  all  st\Jl 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  209 

laughing  at,  and  this  makes  us  all  laugh  again,  and  Stenton 
and  Englefield,  who,  having  lost,  are  fondly  clinging  to  the 
whist-table,  laugh  as  well,  and  saying  good  night  becomes 
quite  a  hysterically  comic  piece  of  work,  so  much  so  that 
I  wonder  we  don't  all  sit  down  in  our  chairs,  or  on  the 
carpet  (old  Mrs.  Childers  on  the  carpet !)  and  have  con- 
vulsions :  and  all  this  because  I  did  n't  say  what  I  was 
going  to  say.  They  did  n't  laugh  when  I  did  make  a  really 
good  joke  this  evening. 

The  ladies  have  gone.  "  Now,"  says  Childers,  "  how 
about  pipes  and  grogs  ? "  Carried  nem.  con.  Englefield 
proposes  we  stop  whist  and  play  Bolerum.  What  is  Bo- 
lerum  ?  Does  n't  any  one  know  ?  Childers  knows,  it  ap- 
pears ;  he  and  Englefield  will  show  it  us  :  and  to  begin 
with,  he  and  Englefield  (this,  they  say,  will  simplify  mat- 
ters) will  keep  the  bank. 

The  game,  they  explain,  is  very  simple :  so  it  appears. 
In  fact  its  simplicity  hardly  seems  to  be  its  great  charm  to 
those  who  do  not  happen  to  be  the  bank.  The  players 
back  their  sixpences  against  the  bank,  and  the  bank  wins. 
Childers  calls  it  "  a  pretty  game." 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  —  bank  wins,"  cries  Englefield  ; 
"  pay  up  !  "  And  we  give  him  sixpence  apiece. 

"  One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  —  bank  again,"  cries  Chil- 
ders ;  "  tizzies  round,"  by  which  he  means  that  we  are 
again  to  subscribe  sixpence  apiece.  Poss  says,  after  five 
times  of  this,  that  he  does  n't  see  it.  Stenton,  the  phi- 
losopher, taking  a  mathematical  view  of  it,  attempts  to 
show  how  many  chances  there  are  in  the  players'  favor, 

N 


210  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

but  ends  in  demonstrating  clearly  that  it  is  at  least  a  hun- 
dred to  one  on  the  bank  each  time.  This  argument  occu- 
pies a- quarter  of  an  hour,  and  three  pieces  of  note  paper, 
which  Stenton  covers  with  algebraic  signs.  Childers  still 
sticks  to  it,  that  "  it 's  a  pretty  game."  We  admit  that  it 
is  very  pretty,  but  we  get  up  from  the  table.  What  game 
shall  we  play  ?  We  decide  (and  sixpences  are  at  the  bot- 
tom of  our  decision),  "  None." 

"  Quite  cold,"  observes  Stenton.  We  gather  in  front  of 
the  fire. 

Poss  suddenly  wonders  that  I've  not  yet  seen  the  ghost 
in  my  room.  Childers  says  "  Ah,"  and  then  we  all  stare  at 
the  fire,  wondering  at  nothing :  silence. 

Childers  turns  quietly  to  Englefield,  and  inquires,  "  if  he 
knows  Jimmy  Flewter  ? "  Englefield  does.  Childers  asks 
"  if  he  heard  about  his  row  with  Menzies  ?  "  Englefield, 
with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  embracing  his  knee,  nods 
assent.  "  It  's  settled,"  says  Childers,  and  stares  at  the 
fire  again.  "  Foolish  of  him,"  observes  Poss.  "  Very," 
says  Stenton,  in  his  deep  bass.  It  would  be  rude  to  ask 
who  Flewter  is,  but  this  sort  of  conversation  is  very  irritat- 
ing. 

Childers  anticipates  me  by  saying,  "  You  don't  know 
Jimmy  Flewter  ? "  I  do  not,  but  signify  I  am  ready  to 
hear  anything  to  his  advantage  or  disadvantage  for  the  sake 
of  conversation. 

"  Ah,  then,"  returns  Childers,  "  you  would  n't  enjoy  the 
story." 

"  Must  know  the  man,"  puts  in  Stenton,  "  to  enjoy  the 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  21 1 

story."  Poss  assents,  and  smiles  as  if  at  a  reminiscence. 
They  all  chuckle  to  themselves.  I  wish  I  had  a  story 
to  chuckle  over  to  myself.  I  wish  I  knew  Flewter. 

"  Seen  my  lord,  to-day  ? "  asks  Englefield  of  Childers. 
Wonder  who  "  My  lord  "  is. 

"  No,  comes  to-morrow,"  is  the  answer. 

"  Paint  ?  "  asks  Poss.     "  Sketch,"  answers  Childers. 

"  Odd  fish,"  observes  Bob  Englefield,  putting  on  his 
spectacles  to  wind  up  his  watch.  "  Very,"  says  Poss.  We 
knock  out  our  ashes,  and,  finishing  our  grog,  go  to  bed. 

Happy  ThoTight.  —  Shall  find  out  who  "  My  lord  "  is  to- 
morrow. Hang  Flewter  !  Rain,  violent :  no  ghost.  Room 
seems  darker.  Window  troublesome.  Think  of  Fridoline. 
Wish  it  was  Valentine's  day,  I  'd  send  her  a  sonnet.  Too 
sleepy  to  think  of  it  now.  *  *  *  *  Jimmy  Flewter.  *  *  *  * 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

THE   WEATHER.  —  I   WORK    IN    ANNE    BOLEYN'S    ROOM. — 
REPARTEES   PROGRESSING.  —  I   MEET   A   STRANGER. 

MOTHER  rainy  day.     They  are  all  at  work  : 
Childers  at  his  picture,  Stenton  at  his  articles, 
and  stirring  up  his  dish  of  photographs  ;  Poss 
Felmyr  at  his  novel,    Bob    Englefield  at   his 
drama. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Work  at  my  handbook  of  repartees : 
quite  forgotten  it  for  a  long  time.  Childers  tells  me  that 
the  room  in  which  I  am  writing  was  Anne  Boleyn's  boudoir. 
He  leaves  me  to  meditate  upon  this.  What  reflections  do 
not  occur  to  one's  mind  ?  *  *  *  *  What  reflections  do? 
*  *  *  *  "  This,"  I  remind  myself,  "  was  Anne  Boleyn's 
boudoir.  Here,"  I  say  to  myself,  standing  by  the  window, 
"  she  looked  out  of  the  window."  I  feel  a  gentle  mel- 
ancholy stealing  over  me.  "  In  this  cupboard,"  here  I 
stand  by  a  small  cupboard  in  the  oak  panel,  "  she  perhaps 
kept  her —  her  —  "  I  open  it  and  find  a  piece  of  string,  a 
screw,  and  a  broken  saucer,  —  these  things  suggest  nothing 
particular,  so  I  alter  my  sentence  to  "  Here  she  kept  some- 
thing or  other."  How  difficult  to  be  enthusiastic  :  you 
can't  force  it.  I  know  men  who,  if  they  were  shut  up  in 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  213 

this  room,  would  overflow  with  poetry.  Why  don't  I  ?  I 
don't  know.  Why  is  it  that  the  only  thought  that  forcibly 
presents  itself  to  me  is,  "  Why  did  n't  she  have  a  fireplace 
here  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  Feel  just  in  the  humor  to  write  repar- 
tees. According  to  my  original  notes,  take  them  alphabeti- 
cally. It  will  be  a  useful  volume,  I  am  convinced,  to 
a  large  number  of  people.  To  make  a  beginning,  I  arrange 
my  paper.  Now  — 

ABBOT.     What  to  say  to  an  Abbot.  — 

By  the  way  we  must  start  with  the  hypothesis,  in  every 
case,  of  the  person  having  made  some  observation  to  you 
demanding  a  repartee.  The  way  to  arrange  this  clearly 
would  be  thus  :  — 

Name  of  person.  —  Hyp.  What  he  says  to  you.  Rep. 
What  you  '//  say  to  him. 

Very  well  then. 

ABBOT.  Hyp.  Here's  the  difficulty,  what  would  an  Abbot 
say  to  you  ? 

Englefield  looks  in  for  a  minute  to  ask  me  how  I  'm  get- 
ting on  generally,  and  I  consult  him.  I  ask  him  what  I  can 
put  down  an  Abbot  as  saying.  He  replies  that  I  'm  wrong 
in  beginning  with  Abbot,  as  Abbe,  alphabetically,  comes  be- 
fore Abbot. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Do  French  repartees.  Make  a  sepa- 
rate book  of  it.  Very  useful  to  tourists.  Or  why  not  trans- 
late them  into  all  languages  ?  Easily  done  with  a  die- 


214  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

tionary  and  grammar ;  and  friends  from  a  distance  would 
assist. 

Happy  Thought.  —  And  why  not  illustrate  it  ?  Capital. 
Englefield  says  this  is  a  good  idea.  Abbe"  offers  an  oppor- 
tunity for  a  French  repartee.  See  how  it  works.  We  must 
have  a  hypothesis.  For  instance,  Englefield  points  out 
that  the  Abbe"  must  first  be  rude. 

I  explain  that  according  to  my  developed  idea,  it  will  be 
between  a  French  Abbe*  and  an  Englishman,  or  a  French- 
man, or  a  German,  or  a  Spaniard,  or  an  Ojibeway,  as  the 
case  might  be. 

Wonder  what  the  Ojibeway  would  say  ?  Englefield  sug- 
gests, "  he  'd  tomahawk  the  Abbe*." 

Let  us  suppose  an  out-of-the-way  case.  "  The  essence 
of  surprise  is  wit,"  I  remind  Englefield.  I  wonder  if  this  is 
an  original  idea  of  mine.  On  thinking  it  over  I  find  I  mean, 
"The  essence  of  wit  is  surprise,"  however,  it  does  n't  matter, 
as  Bob  Englefield  answers,  "  Yes."  "  Hypothetical  Case  : 
—  An  English  tourist  comes  to  an  abbey  in  France.  The 
Abbe"  won't  admit  him.  The  Abbe*  is  rude,  and  says  out  of 
the  window,  '  Allez  au  diable,  vous  gros  Anglais,  vous/' 
The  repartee  is  ready  to  hand,  '  Vous  etes  un  autre?  "  This 
would  shut  up  the  Abbe*  completely. 

In  England  there  is,  I  think,  only  one  Abbot,  who  lives 
in  Leicestershire,  and  people  would  hardly  go  out  of  their 
way  for  the  sake  of  making  repartees  to  him.  Besides,  I 
believe  he  is  a  Trappist,  and  bound  by  vows  not  to  speak  to 
anybody.  As  it  would  lead  to  complications  to  draw  up 
separate  directions  for  "  Repartees  to  be  reparteed  to  per- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  215 

sons  who  won't  speak  to  you,"  I  shall  not  consider  his  and 
any  similar  cases.  Now  what 's  the  next  word,  alphabeti- 
cally ?  There's  nobody  beginning  with  Abe.  Except  Abel. 
But  that 's  out  of  the  question.  Take  Academician.  "  Hy- 
pothesis :  Academician  says  to  you,  '  What  a  conceited 
donkey  you  are  ! ' >:  Then  you  'd  say  as  a  repartee,  "  This 
Academician  does  but  estimate  the  character  of  any  other 
individual  than  himself  by  the  knowledge  he  already  appears 
to  possess  of  his  own."  I  read  this  with  emphasis  to  En- 
glefield,  who  considers  it,  he  says,  "  crushing,  certainly,  but 
too  Johnsonian."  I  ask  Stenton  his  opinion.  He  replies 
that  "  if  any  fellow  said  it  to  him,  he  'd  knock  his  head  off." 
I  attempt  to  turn  the  conversation  by  wondering  how  it 
would  sound  in  Spanish.  Poss  Felmyr,  who  has  been  in 
Spain,  observes  that  if  I  said  such  a  thing  to  a  Spaniard, 
he  'd  have  a  stiletto  into  me  like  one  o'clock. 

These  criticisms  are  rather  against  the  publication  of  my 
book  of  repartees.  When  you  come  to  proceed  with  it,  it 
offers  many  difficulties.  For  instance,  what  to  say  to  an 
Accountant,  to  an  Acrobat,  to  an  Aeronaut,  to  an  Armorer, 
and  so  on  through  the  letter  A,  because  so  much  depends 
upon  what  they  've  said  to  you.  But,  in  a  general  way,  I 
shall  arrange  it  like  a  conversation  book,  and  my  readers 
must  take  their  chance. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Send  it  to  Bradbury,  Evans,  &  Co.  to 
publish. 

Notes  for  the  Book. 

In  B  we  have  Repartee  to  a  Baker,  a  Beadle,  a  Bucca- 
neer. 


2i6  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

C.  To  a  Corn-cutter,  and  a  Coal-whipper. 

D.  What  to  say  to  a  Dragoon,  to  a  Dragoman,  &c.    E 
is  awkward.     F  includes  Funny  Fellow,  and  Fool, 
and  Footman.     Also  a  Fakeer ;  though  I  don't  see 
the  reply  to  a  Fakeer. 

I  shall  leave  it  for  to-day. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Why  not  say  the  same  thing  to  every 
one  ?  If  it 's  a  good  one,  't  would  tell  equally  well  on  an 
Abbot,  a  Buccaneer,  or  a  Footman. 

Going  through  the  hall  I  meet  a  common-looking  dirty 
man,  with  a  sort  of  portfolio  under  his  arm,  and  carrying  a 
box.  One  of  the  travelling  pedlers  who  go  about  the  coun- 
try, and  into  any  houses  they  find  open,  on  pretence  of 
selling  something.  I  ask  him  what  he  wants  here.  He 
answers  that  he  wants  nothing.  Then  I  tell  him  he  'd  bet- 
ter go.  He  observes  that  I  am  perhaps  unaware  to  whom 
I  am  speaking. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Under  letter  P,  Repartee  to  a  Pedler. 
Can't  think  of  one  now.  I  show  him  the  door. 

The  butcher  brings  a  letter  for  me.  It  is  from  old  Johnny 
Byng,  who  wants  me  to  come  to  his  bachelor  establishment, 
and  keep  Christmas  with  him  before  he  goes  to  France :  if 
I  will,  I  am  to  come  at  once,  or  he  shall  ask  the  Swiltons. 
Don't  like  the  Swiltons  ;  at  least,  I  mean,  if  we  were  at 
Byng's  together ;  he  always  gives  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Swilton  the 
best  room,  and  is  always  so  confidential  with  Swflton  ;  and 
then  Mrs.  Swilton,  becoming  the  lady  in  the  bachelor's  house, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  217 

is  so  confoundedly  patronizing  to  me.  In  fact,  it  is  staying 
at  the  Swiltons',  not  Byng's.  So  I  shall  go  at  once,  and 
prevent  the  Swiltons. 

I  announce  this  at  luncheon.  They  are  all  so  sorry  I  am 
going.  Mr.  Childers  says,  "  You  have  n't  been  out  in  the 
punt  to  catch  jack  in  the  moat !  "  "  You  have  n't  sat  for 
your  photograph,"  says  Stenton.  "  We  were  to  have  had 
a  good  walk  together,"  cries  Englefield.  "  You  must  n't 
go,"  says  Poss.  Mrs.  Poss  sweetly  hopes  there  's  no 
necessity  for  my  leaving  them.  Mrs.  Childers  observes, 
"It  's  awkward  too,  as  she  'd  promised  Lord  Starling  to 
bring  their  guest  with  them  to-morrow  to  dinner."  "  Very 
kind  of  her,"  I  say,  though  I  don't  like  being  "  brought " 
in  this  manner. 

The  "  brought  friend  "  is  coldly  welcome  for  the  evening, 
and  they  never  speak  to  him  afterwards.  Still  I  should  n't 
mind  knowing  Lord  Starling.  Mrs.  Childers  tells  me,  "  O, 
you  'd  be  charmed  with  them.  Lady  Starling  is  such  a 
good,  kind  person."  "  Not  at  all  stuck  up,"  puts  in  Mrs. 
Poss.  "  Ah,"  says  Mrs.  Childers,  "  you  have  n't  known  'em 
so  long  as  we  have,"  by  which  she  meant  to  say  to  Mrs. 
Poss,  "  Don't  you  talk  about  the  aristocracy :  it  was  through 
us  you  knew  anything  about  them." 

Childers,  foreseeing  unpleasantness,  interposes  with,  "  My 
lord  was  here  this  morning.  I  thought  he  would  be."  "  O 
Mat,"  says  Mrs.  Childers,  "  I  hope  you  asked  his  lordship 
in  to  lunch."  "  I  did,"  returns  Mat,  "  but  he  would  n't 
come."  I  feel  glad  of  this  ;  and  so  I  'm  sure  does  Mrs. 
Poss,  who  is  only  in  her  morning  dress.  She  says,  how- 
10 


218  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

ever,  taking  a  small  radish,  "  I  suppose  the  Duchess  expects 
him."  A  Duchess  !  I  should  like  to  stay  over  this  party, 
and  then  go  to  old  Johnny  Byng's.  I  'd  astonish  Byng. 

"  I  think,"  I  say  for  the  sake  of  conversation,  "  I  know- 
Lord  Starling."  [Analyzing  the  feeling  that  prompts  this 
observation,  I  find  it  would  come  under  the  head  of  Natural 
Attraction  to  Magnates.]  Mrs.  Childers  regards  me  with 
interest.  "  Funny  little  chap,"  says  Childers.  "  He  was 
here  to  sketch  this  morning.  He  'd  his  old  paint-box,  which 
belonged  to  his  great-grandmother,  and  a  remarkably  an- 
tique portfolio."  "  A  box  and  a  portfolio  ?  "  I  repeat,  as  it 
occurs  to  me  that  I  've  seen  something  of  the  kind  within 
the  last  hour.  "  Yes,"  says  Stenton,  in  his  bass  voice,  the 
deeper  for  his  having  just  lunched,  "  and  such  a  slouch  wide- 
awake and  old  greasy  coat."  "  And  ragged  gaiters,"  adds 
Englefield.  "  Looks,"  says  Poss,  "  like  the  Wandering 
Jew  :  a  wandering  Jew  pedler."  "  Yes,"  returns  Childers, 
who  is  at  the  window,  "  He  's  only  just  now  going  off  in  his 
dog-cart."  I  join  Childers. 

"  Is  that  Lord  Starling  ?  "  I  ask. 

"  Yes,"  answers  Childers.  "  You  would  n't  think,  to  look 
at  him,  that  he  is  the  owner  of  this  Castle  and  all  the  prop- 
erty about  here." 

I  should  n't,  and,  what  is  more,  I  had  n't ;  for  the  gentle- 
man in  the  dog-cart  is  the  Pedler  to  whom  I  made  my 
practical  repartee  of  showing  the  door.  His  own  door ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  to  Byng's. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

I  LEAVE  BOVOR.  —  IN  LONDON.  —  TOUJOURS  MILBURD.  — 
WE  GO  TO  THE  THEATRE.  —  I  AM  INTRODUCED  TO  A 
CELEBRATED  CHARACTER.  —  BRIGHTON.  —  THE  GRAND- 
EST HOTEL. 

TILL  raining. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  Ve  stopped  here,  but  the 
rain  has  n't     I  shall  say  this  as  Sheridan's,  or 
Dean  Swift's. 

The  butcher  orders  a  fly  from  Beckenhurst,  and  the  fly 
fetches  me  from  Bovor.  Old  Mrs.  Childers  regrets  my 
departure,  but  says,  to  cheer  me,  that  she  dares  say  they  '11 
all  be  driven  home  by  the  moat  rising. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  shall  be  driven  home  by  the  fly. 
Happy  Thought.  —  Say  this.     They  laughed. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Send  it  to  Punch.  Say  so.  Englefield 
suggests,  "Why  not  write  for  Punch  ?"  Stenton,  the  phi- 
losopher says,  "  Yes,  write  for  Punch  regularly,  and  they  '11 
send  it  you  regularly."  (Stupid  joke,  after  mine.)  Poss 
Felmyr  shakes  hands  warmly  and  apologizes  for  the  rain. 


220  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Mrs.  Poss  says  good  by,  and  I  feel  that  I  almost  sneak 
out  of  the  drawing-room.  I  wish  I  could  say  something  by 
which.they  'd  remember  me.  The  ladies  (I  see  them  from 
outside)  have  composed  themselves  before  the  fire,  and  are 
intent  on  their  books.  I  came  into  this  place  like  a  lion,  I 
leave  it  like  a  lamb.  Artistically  speaking,  a  conversation- 
alist ought  to  come  in  like  a  lamb  and  go  out  like  a  lion. 
When  Childers  and  the  others  have  carried  my  luggage  to 
the  gate,  I  beg  they  won't  trouble  themselves.  They  say 
it  does  n't  matter,  as  it  does  n't  now. 

hi  the  Fly.  —  I  look  out  of  window.  They  have  all  dis- 
appeared, as  if  they  were  tired  of  me  :  no  waving  of  hands, 
no  cheers.  In  old  feudal  days  there  'd  have  been  some 
hearty  stirrup-cup  ceremonies.  Dreary :  windows  of  fly  up. 
See  nothing :  cold,  raw,  damp.  Christmas-time  coming  on 
fast.  I  should  like  to  send  Fridoline  Symperson  a  present, 
just  to  hint  the  state  of  my  affections.  Wfiat  can  I  send  ? 
Christmas-time  only  suggests  turkeys  and  sausages.  Get 
out  my  MSS.  and  make  notes.  *  *  *  *  By  the  time  I  have 
found' my  MSS.,  which  had  been  scrunched  up  by  the  maid 
in  among  the  boots,  I  find  we  are  at  Beckenhurst.  Ticket 
to  town  :  Station-master,  smiling,  asks  me  if  I  ever  did  any- 
thing about  that  telegram.  I  recollect  now  I  'd  threatened 
to  write  to  the  Times.  I  reply,  "  Ah,  they  '11  hear  about  it 
yet"  as  if  my  vengeance  had  only  been  dozing. 

London.  —  Ought  at  this  season  of  the  year  to  take  some 
Christmas  present  down  to  old  Byng.  Besides,  it 's  his 
birthday.  He  '11  be  just  as  glad  to  see  me  without  it.  (/ 
should  n't,  on  my  birthday.)  There  's  not  going  to  be  any 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  221 

party  of  ladies,  or  he  would  n't  have  asked  me  ;  but  we  shall 
spend  a  quiet  Christmas-time  together,  with  cosey  chats 
over  the  past :  yes,  we  're  very  old  friends.  However,  I  '11 
just  walk  through  the  streets,  and  have  a  look  at  the  shops. 
The  difficulty  is,  I  can't  tell  what  Byng  would  like. 

The  Haymarket.  —  A  pony  runs  away,  traces  broken. 
Crossing-sweeper  knocked  down. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Step  into  a  shop. 

Shopman  says,  "  Spirited  little  animal  that,  sir."  I  return 
carelessly,  "  Yes,  nice  little  fellow  ;  might  easily  have  been 
stopped,  if  they  'd  had  any  sense."  I  am  quitting  the  shop 
feeling  that  I  have  perfectly  requited  the  shopkeeper  for 
the  temporary  refuge  by  giving  him  my  opinion  on  the  sub- 
ject, when  I  feel  a  tremendous  slap  on  the  back,  and  a 
voice,  which  I  do  not  at  once  recognize,  says,  "  Hallo,  old 
boy  !  practical  joke,  eh  ?  "  It  is  Milburd. 

He  is  buying  the  hottest  pickles  he  can  find  (it  is  an 
Italian  warehouse  we  are  in)  to  take  down  to  Byng  as  a 
birthday  present.  We  are  both  going  to  the  same  place. 
Together  ?  Together  :  he  will  call  for  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  This  diminishes  cab-fare.  I  won't 
have  any  change,  that  shall  be  my  practical  joke  on  him. 

A  Night  in  Town.  —  Milburd  and  I  go  to  the  theatre. 
Milburd  has  got  a  voice  like  a  Centaur.  (I  think  I  mean 
Stentor.  N.  B.  Who  was  Stentor  ?  Look  him  out.)  Peo- 
ple are  annoyed.  He  begins  by  taking  seats  which  turn 
out  not  to  belong  to  him,  and  then  the  people  come  in  and 
there  's  a  row  in  the  dress  circle. 


222  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Step  quickly  into  the  lobby.  Milburd, 
coming  out,  angrily  says,  "  he  'd  have  knocked  that  fellow's 
head  eff  for  two  pins."  I  try  to  pacify  him.  I  say,  "  What 's 
the  use  of  getting  into  a  row  ?  It  never  does  any  good."  I 
feel  it  would  n't  as  far  as  I  'm  concerned.  Milburd  insista 
that  the  pair  of  us  would  have  licked  the  lot,  and  wants  to 
catch  them  coming  out.  I  say,  "  No ! "  decidedly,  to  this. 
I  'd  rather  not  catch  them  coming  out.  He  goes  on  to 
observe  that  "  he  should  like  to  punch  his  head."  I  agree 
with  him  there  :  I  should  like  to. 

Happy  Thought  (for  the  twentieth  time).  —  Learn  boxing. 

Happy  Thortght.  —  Go  to  Evans's. 

Milburd  takes  me  there.  I  've  often  heard  of  this  place, 
yet  never  been  there  till  now.  Much  pleased.  Excellent 
glee-singing.  Milburd,  who  evidently  does  know  London 
very  well,  introduces  me  to  an  elderly,  kindly  gentleman, 
whom  he  calls  Mr.  Green,  and  whispers  to  me,  "  You  know 
Green,  don't  you  ?  "  I  don't.  The  kindly  gentleman,  who 
is,  I  fancy,  looking  for  some  seat  where  he  has  left  his  hat, 
for  he  is  walking  about  without  it,  shakes  hands  iaipres- 
sively  with  Milburd,  "  and  hopes  that  all  are  well  round  his 
(Milburd's)  fireside." 

This  hearty  old  English  greeting  Milburd  meets,  I  think, 
somewhat  irreverently  by  replying,  "  Thanks,  yes.  All  well 
round  the  fireside.  Poker  a  little  bent  with  age,  tongs  as 
active  as  ever,  shovel  rather  lazy."  Whereat  Mr.  Green 
smiles,  pats  him  on  the  arm,  and  takes  snuff,  deprecating 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  223 

such  levity.     Milburd  says,  "O,  I  must  have  heard  of 
Green." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Green,  of  course,  aeronaut. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  him  all  about  balloons. 

I  engage  him  in  conversation.  Has  he  been  up  in  a 
balloon  lately  ?  He  smiles,  takes  snuff,  and  nods  his  head 
as  if  he  knew  all  about  it,  but  could  n't  answer  just  now.  I 
ask  him  if  he  's  not  afraid  of  going  up  so  high.  His 
reply  to  this  is,  that  I  will  have  my  joke.  He  leaves  us. 
Milburd  explains  that  he  is  the  revered  proprietor,  and 
tells  me  a  long  story  concerning  the  ancient  fame  of  this 
great  supping-place. 

We  sup  most  comfortably  at  the  cafe*  end  ;  as  Milburd 
inartistically  puts  it,  "  quite  undisturbed  by  the  singing." 
He,  however,  knows  it  all  by  heart ;  I  do  not.  Ladies,  he 
informs  me,  view  the  scene  from  the  gallery,  veiled  and 
behind  gratings,  as  in  St.  Peter's. 

Saturday.  —  Don't  feel  well.  Milburd  proposes  that  we 
sha'  n't  go  to  Byng's  till  Monday. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Run  down  to  Brighton  :  freshen  us 
up  for  the  week.  Milburd  says,  "  Yes,  by  all  means  ;  where 
shall  we  stay  ?  "  Anywhere. 

Happy  Thmight.  —  The  Grand  Hotel. 
Very  well :  cold  day  in  train.     Draughts  in  carriages : 
shivering.    Colder  as  we  approach  Brighton.    Milburd,  who 


224  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

is  a  red-faced,  hearty  chap,  says,  rubbing  his  hands,  "  This 
will  freshen  you  up,  my  boy,  —  this  will  make  your  hair 
curl."  •  If  there  is  any  one  thing  more  than  another  that 
(sets  me  against  a  place  it  is  to  be  told  that  "  it  will  set  me 
up,"  or  "  it  '11  make  my  hair  curl."  I  point  out  that  it  's 
beginning  to  rain.  Milburd  replies,  "  O  no,  —  sea-mist," 
as  if  sea-mist  was  healthy :  why  can't  he  own  it  is  rain  ?  I 
express  myself  to  the  effect  that  it  is  raw,  to  which  Milburd 
returns,  being  in  boisterous  animal  spirits,  "  Cook  it."  I 
wish  I  had  n't  come  with  him,  he  's  so  unsympathetic.  He 
can't  understand  what  it  is  for  any  one  to  have  a  pain 
across  his  shoulders  and  a  headache.  I  've  explained  my 
symptoms  to  him  several  times.  I  assure  him  that  he  is 
quite  wrong  in  saying  that  I  eat  too  much,  and  I  am  getting 
too  fat. 

Terminus  :  damp  fly,  rattling  windows.  Brighton  looks 
windy,  foggy,  damp,  drizzly,  wretched.  Grand  Hotel :  very 
grand.  An  official,  in  a  uniform  something  between  the 
dress  of  a  railway  guard  and  a  musician  in  a  superior  itin- 
erant German  band,  receives  us.  He  is  the  Head  Porter. 
We  are  shown  into  the  lofty  and  spacious  hall.  We  see 
dinners  going  on  in  the  Coffee-room.  Even  Milburd  is 
awed.  I  have  a  sort  of  notion  that  a  gorgeous  man  in 
livery  will  presently  request  us  to  walk  up  and  His  Grand 
Royal  Highness  will  receive  us. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Hotel  for  giants.  In  corridors  seven- 
leagued  boots  put  out  to  be  brushed. 

In  the  vast  galleried  hall,  Milburd,  luggage,  and  self, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  225 

guarded  by  a  boy  in  buttons.  Solitary  individuals  come 
down  stairs,  look  at  us  suspiciously,  and  go  out.  Waiters 
pass  and  repass  us,  all  suspiciously.  Opposite  sits  an 
elegant  lady  in  a  box,  or  bar. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  her  for  rooms. 

She  has  been  waiting  for  this,  and  is  prepared  for  us. 
She  gives  us  tickets,  numbered,  as  if  we  were  going  to  a 
show.  Seems  to  me  suggestive  of  wax-works. 

Milburd  says,  "  We  will  go  up  by  the  lift."  A  gloomy 
porter  with  an  embarrassed  manner  shows  us  into  the  lift. 
It  is  a  dismal  place,  and  after  Milburd  has  tried  a  joke, 
which  is  as  much  a  failure  as  a  squib  on  a  wet  pavement, 
not  even  making  the  lift-porter  smile,  we  subside  into 
gloominess. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Diving-bells  :  Polytechnic  :  also,  old 
ascending-room,  Colosseum. 

(Note.  During  the  three  days  I  am  at  the  hotel,  I  have 
either  seen  the  lift-porter  starting  from  the  ground-floor 
when  I  have  been  going  out,  or  arriving  at  one  of  the  upper 
stories,  after  I  have  walked  up  the  stairs  ;  I  've  never  caught 
him  descending,  nor  got  him  when  I  wanted  him.) 

We  emerge  from  the  lift,  on  to  the  third  gallery — help- 
less. Milburd  knows  all  about  it,  and  finds  the  chamber- 
maid. Rooms  comfortable,  —  very,  but  with  two  mysterious 
draughts  which  make  me  sneeze.  Milburd  orders  dinner  in 
the  Coffee-room. 

10*  O 


226  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought  (during  the  fish  course).  —  Harvey  dis- 
covered the  circulation  of  the  sauce. 

After  dinner,  into  the  smoking-room.  "  Why  should  a 
smoking-room,  nowadays,  be  rendered  purposely  uncom- 
fortable ?  Why  should  it  be  the  only  apartment  where  easy- 
chairs,  divans,  cheerful  paper,  are  unknown  ?  Why,  in  a 
most  luxurious  hotel,  should  there  be  a  smoking-room 
which  is  cheerless  by  day,  and  dingy  by  night  ?  "  Milburd 
asks  me  these  questions  pettishly,  and  describes  the  sort 
of  room  he  would  have.  Warm  and  cheery,  small  tables, 
lamps,  not  gas,  chess-boards,  bookcases  well  filled,  news- 
papers ;  writing-tables,  with  supply  of  writing  materials  laid 
on ;  good  fires  in  winter  throughout  the  day,  and  let  the 
room  have  a  good  view  from  its  windows. 

Pouring  with  rain  —  and  we  came  here  for  a  change  1 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

SUNDAY  AT  BRIGHTON.  —  AN  UNSOCIABLE  COMPANION.  — 
MY  NEIGHBORS  IN  THE  HOTEL.  —  WE  LEAVE  FOR  LON- 
DON. 


THOUGHT.  —  Sunday  afternoon  :  walk 
on  the  parade.    Wonder  how  the  pleasure-boat- 
men get  a  living  in  the  winter.     Apparently  by 
talking  together  in  groups,  with  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  and  smoking  pipes  without  any  tobacco. 

Every  one  looks  very  bright  and  blooming,  and  every 
one  is  making  the  most  of  the  dry  weather,  as  if  they  were 
trying  to  get  the  best  of  a  time-bargain  with  the  fresh  sea- 
air.  What  a  nuisance  wind  is,  —  what  a  nuisance  a  hat  is  ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  My  wide-awake. 

Milburd  won't  walk  with  me  while  I  've  got  that  thing 
on,  he  says.  I  won't  give  in,  so  we  pass  one  another, 
idiotically,  on  the  parade.  Think  I  see  the  Mackenzies 
coming,  —  pretty  girls  :  wish  I  'd  got  on  my  hat.  They 
bow  and  look  astonished :  walk  up  the  Parade.  See  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Breemer ;  they  recognize  me.  Walk  down,  see 
the  Mackenzies  for  the  second  time.  Don't  know  whether 
to  bow  again,  or  not :  they  smile.  I  smile  '.  I  wonder  what 
we  mean?  Hope  they'll  go  off  the  Parade  this  time. 


228  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Walk  up,  —  see  the  Breemers  coming.  How  very  awk- 
ward this  is  :  can't  bow  again,  —  will  look  another  way. 
I  do,  until  I  come  quite  up  to  them,  and  then,  turning  sud- 
denly, am  flustered.  Mr.  Breemer  nods,  and  I  nod,  but 
don't  know  whether  to  take  off  my  hat  this  time  to  Mrs. 
Breemer ;  I  wish  these  things  were  settled  by  law.  We 
pass  on.  Walk  down  :  the  Mackenzies  again. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Turn  before  they  come  up. 

I  do  so,  won't  they  think  it  rude  ?  Can't  help  it,  it 's 
done  ;  and  here  are  the  Breemers.  I  nodded  last  time, 
what  shall  I  do  this  ?  Wink  jocosely  ?  no  sense  in  that, 
they  '11  set  me  down  for  a  buffoon. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Sit  down  with  my  face  to  the  sea. 

Wonder  whether  the  Breemers  have  gone, — and  the 
Mackenzies.  Look  cautiously  round.  Enjoyment  is  out 
of  the  question,  with  the  Breemers  and  Mackenzies  per- 
petually meeting  one.  I  feel  as  if  they  were  saying  every 
time  they  see  me,  "  Here 's  Thingummy  again,  don't 
take  any  notice  of  him,"  and  if  you  once  think  yourself 
shunned  you  can't  enjoy  anything.  I  feel  that  I  'm  spoil- 
ing the  Breemers'  and  Mackenzies'  day  at  Brighton,  and 
they  must  feel  that  they  are  interfering  with  my  enjoy- 
ment. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  Pariah  at  Brighton. 
Rain  settles  th'e  question, — back  to  hotel.     What  shall 
I  do  ?     What  can  I  do  ?  *  *  *  *  Rain.  *  *  *  * 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  229 

Happy  Thought.  —  Write  letters.  Think  to  whom  I 
have  n't  written  for  ages :  great  opportunity.  Write  to 
some  relations  whom  I  have  n't  spoken  to  for  years,  and 
ask  how  they've  been  this  long  time,  and  why  they  never 
write.  They  '11  like  the  attention.  *  *  *  * 

By  the  way,  Milburd  is  n't  much  of  a  companion.  He 
comes  in  and  says  he  's  been  chatting  with  the  Tethering- 
tons,  and  could  n't  get  away.  When  he  's  been  away  for 
any  time  he  always  excuses  himself  by  saying  he  'd  been 
"  chatting."  He  wishes  I  would  n't  wear  that  old-fashioned 
wide-awake.  "  The  Tetheringtons  noticed  it,"  he  tells  me  ; 
also,  that  "  every  one  was  remarking  it."  I  ask  him,  quietly, 
"  Who  's  every  one  ?  "  and  he  answers,  "  O,  lots  of  people." 
I  tell  him  that  I  am  above  that  sort  of  thing,  and  do  not 
care  for  the  world.  I  ask  him  if  he  told  them  that  I  was 
a  friend  of  his.  He  answers  that  he  did,  but  added, 
"  that  I  was  slightly  cracked."  I  am  annoyed.  I  sha'  n't 
go  anywhere  with  Milburd  again.  After  dinner  Milburd 
goes  away  to  "  chat "  with  the  Tetheringtons  again,  and  I 
read  all  the  weekly  papers  through,  including  the  adver- 
tisements. 

Bedroom. —  In  the  next  room  on  my  left  to  me  is  a 
whistling  gentleman.  In  the  room  above  me  is  a  stamping 
gentleman  ;  and  somewhere  about,  perhaps  the  next  room 
on  my  right,  is  a  declaiming  gentleman.  At  night  the  de- 
claiming gentleman  has  a  good  turn  of  it,  while  the  stamp- 
ing gentleman  only  walks  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  over 
my  head.  The  declaiming  gentleman  is  very  impressive 
for  nearly  an  hour,  when  he  subsides  all  at  once  and  utterly, 


230  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

as  if  in  the  middle  of  a  speech  he  had  been  suddenly 
knocked  on  the  head,  and  put  into  bed  speechless. 

The"  whistling  gentleman  has  the  morning  to  himself.  He 
wakes  himself  with  a  whistle,  he  whistles  himself  (operati- 
cally)  out  of  bed.  He  whistles,  spasmodically,  amid  splash- 
ings.  He  whistles  a  waltz  while  brushing  his  hair  violently  ; 
I  hear  the  brushes.  He  whistles  a  polka  in  gasps,  from 
which  I  conclude  he  is  pulling  on  tight  boots.  He  whistles 
and  jingles  things  together  sounding  like  half-crowns  and 
boot-hooks  ;  and  faintly  whistles  himself  out  of  his  room 
(March  from  Norma,  with  variations)  and  down  the  pas- 
sage. 

The  stamping  man  has  during  this  stamped  himself  out 
of  bed.  Judging  from  the  sounds,  he  must  perform  all  the 
operations  of  his  toilet  by  forced  marches.  I  should  say 
he  walks  a  mile  before  breakfast. 

The  declaiming  gentleman  is  not  oratorical  in  the  morn- 
ing. I  think  he' is  packing:  I  hear  paper  rustling,  and, 
after  a  time,  sounds  as  of  dragging  heavy  weights  about 
the  room.  His  struggles  with  one  obstinate  portmanteau 
are  awful.  He  has  got  it  up  against  the  wall  now,  and  is 
kicking  it.  Pause  :  he  is  panting  and  groaning.  A  bell : 
the  Boots  comes  :  they  are  both  struggling  with  the  port- 
manteau. All  is  quiet :  the  door  opens.  I  look  out  and 
see  the  conqueror  walking  down  the  passage  in  triumph, 
followed  by  the  Boots  with  the  captive  portmanteau,  bound 
and  strapped,  on  his  shoulder. 

By  the  way,  Milburd,  returning  at  about  two  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  wakes  me  up  to  ask  me  if  I  'm  asleep, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  231 

and  to  inform  me  that  he  's  sorry  he  's  been  away  so  long, 
but  he  's  been  chatting  with  the  Tetheringtons. 

Breakfast.  —  Milburd  not  back  from  his  bath.  Being  late, 
I  am  the  only  person  at  breakfast  in  this  enormous  coffee- 
room.  Waiters  in  a  corner  laughing ;  fancy  it  is  at  me. 
Should  like  to  order  them  to  instant  execution.  A  Chief 
of  the  waiters  enters,  and  reviews  a  line  regiment  of  cold 
beef,  cold  mutton,  cold  chickens,  tongue,  ham,  and  cold 
pork  on  a  sideboard.  Satisfied  with  his  inspection,  he  re- 
tires. A  gentleman  comes  in  to  breakfast ;  looks  at  me  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  Confound  it,  sir,  what  do  you  mean  by 
being  here  ?  " 

I  return  his  look  of  contempt  and  scorn.  He  sits  in  full 
view  of  the  sea,  and  eats  his  dry  toast  with  a  puzzled  air,  as 
if  he  was  tasting  it  as  a  sample,  occasionally  turning  quickly 
towards  the  window  as  if  expecting  some  one  to  come  in  by 
it  suddenly. 

Milburd,  from  his  bath,  with  his  hair  very  wet  and  neatly 
parted.  He  complains  of  my  breakfasting  without  him,  and 
turns  up  his  nose  at  my  chop  and  egg.  He  explains  his 
absence  by  telling  me  that  he  was  "  having  a  chat  with  the 
man  at  the  baths."  He 's  always  chatting.  I  shall  not 
come  out  with  Milburd  again. 

Off  to  London,  and  then  down  to  old  Johnny  Byng's. 

ft 


CHAPTER    XXXI. 

AN   INTERVIEW   WITH   A   WATCH   DOG.  —  A   SURPRISE. 

Y  practical  joke.     No  change.     Milburd  has  to 
pay  the  cab  ;  after  which  he  has  no  change,  only 
a  check,  and    I  have  to  pay  the  railway  fares 
for  both.     So  ends  my  practical  joke. 
Very  cold  travelling. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Sixpence  to  guard.    Hot-water  bottle. 

Jolly  place  to  go  to  is  Byng's.  One  need  n't  (I  say)  take 
down  dress-clothes  ;  no  ladies  or  dinner-parties.  You  can 
go  down  as  you  are.  "  As  /  am "  means  a  light-colored 
shooting-coat,  waistcoat  to  match,  and  warm,  comfortable 
trousers,  rather  old,  and  a  trifle  shabby  perhaps,  but,  as  Mil- 
burd says,  "  anything  will  do  for  the  country  in  winter." 

We  reach  the  station.  No  flies.  We  stamp  up  and  down 
for  half  an  hour  warming  our  feet.  It  is  half  past  five,  he 
dines  at  half  past  six.  However,  no  dressing ;  hot  water 
and  dine  as  we  are.  Milburd  tells  me  he  always  dresses  for 
dinner  for  comfort's  sake,  and  adds,  "  that  it 's  always  safer 
to  bring  your  evening  clothes  with  you  when  you  're  going 
on  a  visit."  I  reply,  "  O,  I  don't  know."  No  fly.  No 
porter  to  send.  If  Milburd  will  watch  the  luggage,  I,  who 
know  the  country  and  where  the  Inn  is,  will  walk  on  and  get 
a  fly  sent  down  to  him. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  233 

I  do  so.  Fly  is  ready.  I  'II  walk  on  to  the  house.  An- 
other practical  joke  of  mine.  Milburd  will  have  to  pay  the 
fly.  If  he  has  no  change,  the  butler  will  have  to  do  it,  and 
Milburd  must  settle  with  him.  I  know  the  short  cut,  and 
can  go  in  by  the  yard  door. 

Brisk  walk.     Up  a  lane.     See  the  lights. 

Think  I  hear  Milburd's  fly  quite  in  the  distance.  Great 
fun.  I  '11  be  there  before  him,  and  then  what  good  trick  can 
we  play  on  him  ? 

Here's  the  yard  door.  Open  !  no  bell  needed.  It 's  very 
dangerous  to  keep  a  door  like  this  so  unguarded.  There 
ought  to  be  a  dog  or  trap. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  '11  tell  Byng  he  ought  to  have  a  dog. 

There  is  a  dog.  An  inch  more  to  his  chain,  and  he  'd 
have  pinned  me  :  how  dangerous  !  I  must  creep  along, 
keeping  close  to  the  wall.  He  is  plunging  and  barking 
wildly  in  front  of  me  :  I  can  just  see  his  form.  I  hear  the 
fly  driving  up  by  the  front  way :  I  wish  I  'd  come  by  that 
The  dog  is  still  plunging,  dashing,  and  barking. 

Happy  Tho2tght.  —  To  say  "  Poor  old  boy,  then,  —  poor 
old  man  ! " 

He  is  growling,  which  is  more  dangerous.  I  try  a  tone 
of  the  deepest  compassion,  "  Poor  old  fellow,  then ;  poor 
old  chap  !  " 

He  is  trying  to  break  his  chain  :  if  he  breaks  his  chain,  I 
am  done.  Shall  I  call  for  help  ?  it 's  so  absurd  to  call  for 
help.  I  am  in  an  angle  of  the  wall ;  if  I  move  to  the  doof 


234  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

where  I  came  in  he  can  reach  me  ;  if  I  move  off  along  the 
wall  he  can  reach  me.  I  don't  exactly  see  where  he  can't 
reach,  me.  "Poor  fellow,  —  poor  boy!"  He  is  literally 
furious  ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Climb  the  wall. 

I  try  climbing  the  wall :  if  I  fall  back,  he  's  safe  to  catch 
me.  Any  movement  on  my  part  sends  him  wild :  how  won- 
derful it  is  that  they  have  not  been  attracted  in-doors  by  his 
noise. 

"  Poor  old  boy !  "  I  hear  him  shaking  his  kennel  with 
rage.  He  will  have  a  convulsion,  go  mad,  and  break  the 
chain.  If  I  ever  get  out  of  this,  I  swear  I  '11  never  try  a 
short  cut  to  a  house  again.  At  last  a  light.  The  cook  at 
the  door,  —  the  kitchen  door.  "  What  do  I  want  ? "  she 
asks.  I  reply,  "  O,  nothing,  I  was  just  walking  in  the  short 
way,  and  the  old  dog  does  n't  quite  know  me."  The  butler 
luckily  appears,  he  addresses  me  by  name,  and  orders, 
with  authority,  Growler  to  get  down,  which  Growler  does, 
sulkily. 

I  say,  as  if  he  was  leaving  me  pleasantly,  "  Poor  old  boy ! 
—  sharp  dog  that."  It's  a  bad  example  to  let  people  see 
you  're  at  all  afraid  of  an  animal.  He  growls  from  his  ken- 
nel, and  we  enter  the  house. 

Mr.  Milburd  has  arrived,  and  my  luggage.  Will  I  go  into 
the  drawing-room  ?  there  's  tea  in  the  drawing-room,  as  we 
don't  dine  till  seven  to-day.  I  take  off  my  wraps  with  a 
feeling  of  being  at  home.  Old  Byng  comes  out  to  greet  me. 
He  says,  "  I  've  got  a  surprise  for  you."  I  wish  I  'd  got  a 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  235 

surprise  for  him,  it 's  his  birthday.  "  Many  happy  returns," 
I  give  him  heartily.  He  says,  "  Such  a  surprise.  I  knew 
you  would  n't  come  if  there  were  ladies."  What  does  he 
mean  ?  We  walk  to  the  drawing-room.  I  follow  him  :  I 
am  prepared  to  have  a  good  laugh  at  Milburd  about  paying 
the  fly,  and  then — • 

Ladies  !  six  ladies  ! !  all  seated  round  the  fire  taking  tea. 
Milburd  standing  on  the  rug,  a  young  man  on  a  small  chair, 
an  elderly  gentleman  deep  in  a  book.  Six  ladies  ! ! ! 

Unhappy  Thought.  —  No  dress-clothes. 

I  am  introduced,  vaguely.  I  don't  hear  any  one's  name, 
and  try  to  give  a  different  sort  of  bow  to  each,  which  fails. 
After  the  introduction,  silence.  My  host  goes  and  talks  to 
elderly  lady  with  worsted. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Look  at  photograph-book  on  table. 
Quite  a  refuge  for  the  conversationally  -destitute  is  a  photo- 
graph-book. Think  I  '11  speak  to  elderly  gentleman ;  what 
about  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  him  how  the  weather  's  been  here. 
As  he  says,  "  I  beg  pardon,  what  ? "  the  door  opens,  a 
seventh  lady  enters,  —  Miss  Fridoline  Symperson  ! ! !  No 
evening  dress-clothes ! 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

I  GET  RIGGED  OUT.  —  MY  FIRST  BON-MOT  HERE.  —  DYNNER. 
—  MY  PARTNER  FROM  NOVA  SCOTIA.  —  MUSIC. 

ELL  sounds  for  dressing.  There  are,  I  subse- 
quently discover,  bells  to  prepare  us  for  every 
meal,  and  a  gong  when  the  meal  is  ready.  The 
first  bell,  sounding  one  hour  before  dinner,  mere- 
ly indicates  that  another  bell  is  coming  in  half  an  hour's 
time,  which,  when  it  sounds,  means  that  there's  one  more 
bell  to  inform  the  household  that  time  's  up,  and  then  the 
boom  of  the  gong  puts  all  further  chances  out  of  the  ques- 
tion, finishing  the  preparatory  process  with  the  decision  of 
an  auctioneer's  hammer  knocking  down  "  gone  !  " 

In  Johnny  Byng's  house  everything  is  done  with  military 
precision.  The  ladies  say  to  one  another,  "  Well,  I  sup- 
pose we  must  go  up  now,"  for  every  one  makes  a  point  of 
not  knowing  which  bell  it  is, — uncertainty  on  this  subject 
being  an  invariable  excuse  for  lateness  at  dinner  or  lun- 
cheon, —  and  I  take  Johnny  Byng  aside,  and  explain  to  him 
that,  as  I  thought  there  were  no  ladies  there,  I  had  brought 
no  dress-clothes.  He  says,  "It  does  n't  matter,  p'r'aps  I  can 
rig  you  out  for  to-night,  and  to-morrow  you  can  send  up  to 
town." 

The  rigging-out   results  in  a  black  velveteen  shooting- 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  237 

coat  and  waistcoat  to  match.  With  a  black  tie  I  feel  myself 
in  full  dress.  I  always  find  somebody  else's  clothes  suit 
me  better  than  my  own.  Byng  has  a  pair  of  patent  leather 
boots  by  him  that  no  one  else  can  wear.  The  very  things 
for  me  :  more  comfortable  than  any  I  've  ever  had  made  for 
myself. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  jokingly  to  Byng,  "  I  shall  keep 
these  boots."  He  laughs  and  does  n't  say  no.  Shall  let 
the  servant  pack  'em  up  when  I  go. 

Bell.     Gong. 

Happy  Thought  on  hearing  Gong.  —  "  Walk  up,  walk  up, 
just  a-going  to  begin."  Say  it :  not  a  success  as  a  joke. 
Milburd  tells  me  afterwards  that  the  ladies  thought  it  rather 
vulgar.  Sha'  n't  say  it  again. 

Drawing-room.  Ladies  all  in  full  grand  toilet.  I  feel 
inclined  to  apologize,  but  getting  near  Fridoline  Symperson 
(who  is  superior  to  mere  outward  show,  and  looks  lovely 
with  her  silky  golden  hair — it  used  to  be  darker  —  and  thin 
dark  eyebrows)  I  tell  her  how  I  abominate  evening  dress, 
and  what  a  comfort  it  is  to  be  in  an  easy  velveteen  coat.  "  I 
wonder,"  I  add,  "  why  every  one  does  n't  adopt  the  fashion." 
Milburd,  who  overhears  my  observation,  asks  me  loudly, 
"  if  I  ever  heard  of  the  monkey  who  had  lost  his  tail.  You 
know,"  he  continues,  seeing  he  has  got  an  audience, 
(Note.  A  man  who  talks  loudly  and  authoritatively  before 
women  can  always  get  an  audience,  specially  in  the  few 
minutes  before  dinner.  Typical  Developments.  Chapter 


238  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

on  "  Superficiality,"  Book  X.  Vol.  XIV.,)  "  the  monkey  who 
lost  his  own  tail  told  every  one  that  it  was  the  more  com- 
fortable fashion  to  go  without  one  !  " 

Miss  Fridoline  laughs.  Every  one  is  amused.  Is  there 
impiety  in  wishing  that  the  power  of  brilliant  repartee  could 
be  obtained  by  fasting,  humiliation,  and  a  short  stay  in  a 
desert  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Desert :  Leicester  Square.  I  think 
this  :  how  well  it  would  have  come  out  in  conversation.  I 
hesitate,  as  they  might  think  it  vulgar. 

Byng,  who  is  the  courtly  host,  introduces  me  to  a  Miss 
Pellingle.  [I  don't  catch  her  name  until  the  following 
morning.] 

Happy  Thought.  —  Why  should  not  introductions  be 
managed  with  visiting-cards  ? 

Being  introduced  to  her,  I  am  on  the  point  of  asking  her 
if  she  is  engaged  for  the  next  dance  (my  fun),  when  the 
gong  sounds  again,  and  she  says  that  she  supposes  it  must 
be  for  dinner.  Butler  announces  "  dinner  "  to  us,  having 
just  announced  it  to  himself  on  the  gong  in  the  hall.  Byng 
leads  with  elderly  lady,  who  crackles  as  she  moves,  with 
bugles  and  spangles  on  a  black  dress.  The  middle-aged 
gentleman,  I  find,  belongs  to  her,  and  both  together  are  some 
sort  of  relations  of  Johnny  Byng's.  All  here  are,  I  discover, 
more  or  less  related  to  Byng,  only,  as  he  has  no  brothers  or 
sisters,  you  have  to  get  at  their  relationship  by  tracing  mar- 
riages and  intermarriages  in  connection  with  Byng's  whole- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  239 

uncle  William  and  his  half-aunt  Sarah,  which  he  tries  to 
explain  to  me  late  at  night. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  say  to  him  jestingly,  "  If  Dick's 
uncle  was  Tom's  son,  what  relation  was,"  and  so  forth. 
He  is  annoyed.  (Query,  vulgar  ?) 

Dinner.  —  As  I  pass  Byng,  he  whispers  hurriedly,  allud- 
ing to  my  partner,  "  She  's  been  to  Nova  Scotia.  Draw 
her  out."  After  twice  placing  a  leg  of  my  chair  on  my 
partner's  dress,  and  once  on  that  of  the  lady  on  my  left,  we 
wedge  ourselves  in.  I  begin  to  laugh  about  these  little 
difficulties  ;  and,  seeing  Miss  Pellingle  look  serious,  I  find 
I  have  been  jocose  while  Byng  (behind  a  lot  of  flowers 
where  I  could  n't  see  him)  was  saying  grace. 

Happy  Thoiight.  —  Exert  myself  as  a  conversationalist, 
and  try  to  draw  her  out  about  Nova  Scotia.  Begin  with 
"  So  you  've  been  to  Nova  Scotia  ?  "  She  replies,  "  Yes, 
she  has."  I  feel  inclined  to  ask,  "  Well,  and  how  are 
they  ?  "  which  I  know  would  be  stupid.  (Query,  vulgar  ?) 
I  should  like  to  commence  instructing  her  about  Nova 
Scotia.  I  wish  Byng  had  told  me  before  dressing  for  din- 
ner :  he  's  got  a  good  library  here.  . 

Happy  Thought.  —  Draw  her  out  in  a  general  way  by 
asking,  "  And  what  sort  of  a  place  is  Nova  Scotia  ?  "  This 
I  put  rather  frowningly,  as  if  I  'd  received  contradictory 
accounts  about  it  which  had  deterred  me  from  going  there. 

She  answers,  "  Which  part  ?  " 


240  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  shrug  my  shoulders  and  reply, 
"  O,  any  part,"  leaving  it  to  her.  She  begins  something 
about  Halifax  (Halifax  I  remember,  of  course,  and  a  song 
commencing,  "A  captain  bold  in  Halifax"  ;  don't  mention 
it,  might  be  vulgar),  when  we  hear  a  noise  as  of  a  band 
tuning  outside  the  window.  Byng  explains  that,  being  his 
birthday,  the  band  from  Dishling  (Byng's  village)  — 

"And"  puts  in  the  butler,  with  the  air  of  a  man  who 
knows  what  good  music  is,  "  the  band  from  Bogley  " 

Byng  adopts  the  butler's  amendment,  "  The  bands  from 
Dishling  and  Bogley  come  to  play  during  dinner." 

Milburd  makes  a  wry  face.  The  united  musicians  com- 
mence (in  the  dark  outside)  an  overture.  We  listen. 
Byng's  half-aunt  pretends  to  be  interested,  and  asks,  after 
a  few  bars,  "  Dear  me,  what  's  that  out  of  ?  " 

I  think.     We  all  think. 

Except  Milburd,  who  exclaims,  "  Out  of?  Why,  out  of 
tune,  I  should  say."  All  laugh.  Milburd,  I  suppose,  is 
one  of  those  wags  who  "  set  the  table  in  a  roar."  Pooh  ! 
Vulgar. 

Miss  Pellingle  turns  to  me  and  observes,  "  That  was  very 
funny,  was  n't  it  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  reply,  deprecatingly,  "  Yes  :  funny, 
but  old." 

The  bands  from  Bogley  and  Dishling  get  through  the 
overture  to  William  Tell,  Dishling  got  through  it  first,  I 
think. 

Happy    Thought  (which   has  probably   occurred  to  the 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  241 

leader  of  the  united  Dishling  and  Bogley  Bands).  —  When 
there  's  a  difficulty,  beat  the  drum. 

Another  Happy  Thought  (which  probably  has  also  oc- 
curred to  the  leader).  —  Ophicleide  covers  a  multitude  of 
sins. 

Byng  goes  out  to  address  them.  He  likes  playing,  as  it 
were,  the  "  Ould  Squire  among  his  Happy  Tenantry,"  or 
"  The  Rightful  Lord  of  the  Manor  welcomed  Home."  The 
manor  consists  of  a  lawn  in  front,  a  garden  at  the  back,  and 
a  yard  with  the  dog  in  it  The  united  bands,  being  treated 
to  two  bottles  of  wine,  offer  to  play  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 
Offer  declined.  Milburd  says,  "  There  would  n't  be  much 
rest  of  the  night  if  they  did."  Table  in  a  roar  again.  I 
smile :  or  they  'd  think  me  envious. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Funny,  but  not  new. 

Ladies  retire.  Fridoline,  passing  me,  observes,  "You 
seemed  very  much  interested  in  Nova  Scotia." 

She  has  gone  before  I  can  reply.  Is  it  possible  that  *  * 
Is  she  *  *  *  I  wonder  *  *  because  *  *  *  if  I  only 
thought  that  she  *  *  *  I  should  like  to  know  if  she 
meant  *  *  *  or  was  it  merely  *  *  *  *  and  yet  *  *  * 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  wilL 


II 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

REPARTEE      PRACTICE.  —  MISS      PELLINGLE     WITH     ROUS- 
SEAU'S   DREAM.  —  FRIDOLINE.  —  AN   INTERRUPTION. 

OING  to  the  Drawing-room. 

Old  Mr.  Symperson,  Fridoline's  father,  has 
been  telling  very  ancient  stories.  So  has  Byng's 
whole-uncle. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Laugh  at  all  old  Sym  person's  stories 
and  jokes.  It  is  difficult  to  show  him  that  not  a  word  of 
his  is  lost  upon  me,  as  there  are  five  between  us.  Byng's 
whole-uncle,  encouraged  by  this,  tells  a  long  story,  and 
looks  to  me  for  a  laugh.  No. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Smile  as  if  it  was  n't  bad,  but  not  to 
be  mentioned  in  the  same  breath  with  anything  of  Old 
Symperson's. 

Milburd  (hang  him  ! )  interrupts  these  elderly  gentlemen 
(he  has  no  reverence,  not  a  bit),  and  tells  a  funny  story. 
Old  Symperson  is  convulsed,  and  asks  Byng,  audibly,  who 
Milburd  is. 

I  wish  I  could  make  him  ask  something  about  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Picture  him  to  myself,  in  his  study 
with  his  slippers  on,  giving  his  consent. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  243 

I  get  close  to  him  in  leaving  the  room.  He  whispers 
something  to  me  jocosely,  as  Byng  opens  the  drawing-room 
door.  I  don't  hear  it. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Laugh.  Note.  —  You  can  enter  a 
drawing-room  easier  if  you  laugh  as  you  walk  in. 

The  whole-uncle  enters  the  room  sideways,  being  en- 
gaged in  explaining  details  of  the  cocoa-nut  trade  (I  think) 
to  a  resigned  middle-aged  person  with  a  wandering  eye. 
Byng  is  receiving  "  many  happy  returns  "  from  guests  who 
have  come  in  for  the  evening.  Old  Mr.  Symperson  is  be- 
ing spoken  to  sharply,  I  imagine,  from  Mrs.  Symperson's 
rigid  smile,  on  the  subject  of  something  which  "  he  knpws 
never  agrees  with  him."  Milburd  is,  in  a  second,  with 
Fridoline. 

Miss  Pellingle  is  expecting,  no  doubt,  that  I  am  going 
to  ask  her  for  some  trifles  from  Nova  Scotia.  I  avoid  her. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Look  at  Byng's  birthday  presents 
arranged  on  the  table.  Think  Fridoline  looks  at  me  ? 
Am  I  wasting  my  time?  I  think  I  must  be,  as  Byng 
comes  up  and  asks  me  if  I  am  fond  of  pictures.  I  should 
like  to  say,  "  No  :  hate  'em."  What  I  do  say  is,  "  Yes  : 
very."  I  knew  the  result.  Photograph-book  :  seen  it  be- 
fore dinner. 

Watch  Milburd  and  Fridoline.  Try  to  catch  her  eye  and 
express  a  great  deal.  Catch  his  :  and  he  winks.  He  is 
what  he  calls  "  having  a  chat  "  with  Miss  Fridoline. 

All  are  conversationally  engaged  except  myself.     I  hate 


244  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

all  the  people  in  the  Photograph-book.     Shut  it.     Byng  is 
ready  at  once  for  me.     Am  I  fond  of  ferns  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say  "  No  !  "  boldly. 

"  You  'd  like  these  though,  I  think,"  he  returns.  "  Miss 
Fridoline  arranged  a  book  of  'em  for  me  for  my  birthday." 
I  say,  "  Oh  !  "  This  would  have  led  to  conversation,  but  I 
will  be  consistent  in  saying,  "  I  don't  like  ferns."  [Note 
for  Typical  Developments,  Chap.  2,  Book  XIII.,  Par.  6. 
"  Monosyllabic  Pride  :  false."] 

I  take  a  seat  near  the  ottoman  where  she  and  Milburd 
are  sitting.  Difficult  to  join  suddenly  in  a  conversation. 
Hunting  subject.  She  expects  me  to  say  something,  I 
am  sure.  Feel  hot.  Feel  that  my  hair  and  tie  want  ad- 
justment. Cough  as  if  I  was  going  to  sing.  Milburd 
(idiot)  says  he  hopes  I  feel  better  after  that.  I  smile 
to  show  that  I  consider  him  a  privileged  fool.  Wonder  if 
my  smile  does  convey  this  idea.  Try  it  in  the  glass  at  bed- 
time. 

Will  touch  him  sharply. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  pointedly,  "  How  often  it  hap- 
pens that  a  person  who  is  always  making  jokes  can't  take 
one  himself! " 

He  is  ready  (I  admit  his  readiness)  with  a  repartee. 
"  You  ought,"  he  says  to  me,  "  to  take  jokes  from  any  one 
very  well."  I  know  I  do.  Miss  Fridoline  asks  why  ?  I 
think  he  's  going  to  pay  a  tribute  to  my  good-nature.  Not 
a  bit  of  it.  He  says,  "  He  finds  it  very  easy  to  take  jokes 
from  other  people  :  it  saves  making  them  for  himself." 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  245 

Happy  Thought.  — Note  for  Repartee.  —  What  I  ought  to 
have  said.  "  Then,  sir,"  (Johnsonian  style,)  "  I  will  make  a 
jest  at  your' expense." 

[Odd  ;  it  is  past  midnight  as  I  put  this  down.  It  strikes 
me  after  the  candle  's  out,  and  just  as  I  am  turning  on  my 
sleeping  side.  By  the  light  of  the  fire  I  record  it.  If  this 
conversation  ever  recurs  I  shall  be  prepared. 

Another  Happy  Thought.  —  Wake  Milburd,  and  say  it 
to  him  now. 

Would  if  I  knew  his  room.  Bed  again.  Think  I  've 
thought  of  something  else.  Out  of  bed  again.  Light. 
Odd :  striking  the  lucifer  has  put  it  (whatever  it  was)  out 
of  my  head.  Bed  again  ;  strange.] 

Miss  Pellingle  is  kind  enough  to  play  the  piano.  While 
she  is  performing,  I  can  talk  to  Fridoline. 

Miss  Pellingle  having  to  pass  me  on  her  road  to  the  in- 
strument, I  am  obliged  to  rise. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say,  "  You  're  going  to  play  some- 
thing ?  That 's  charming." 

She  drops  her  fan,  and  I  pick  it  up.  She  is  already  pre- 
paring for  action  at  the  instrument  when  I  return  the  fan. 
Byng  whispers  to  me,  "  Thanks,  old  fellow  !  You  know  all 
about  music :  turn  over  for  her,  will  you  ?  Clever  girl ! 
Think  I've  told  you  she'd  been  to  Nova  Scotia,  eh?" 
And  he  leaves  me  at  the  piano's  side.  If  there  was  a  boat 
starting  for  Nova  Scotia  now,  I  'd  willingly  pay  for  her 
ticket,  and  Byng  should  see  her  off. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  look  helplessly  towards  Fridoline, 


246  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

as  much  as  to  say,  "  See  how  I  am  placed  !  I  don't  want 
to  be  here  :  I  wish  to  be  by  you."  Why  did  Miss  Pellingle 
leave  Nova  Scotia  ? 

She  does  n't  seem  in  the  least  interested. 

Miss  Pellingle  commences  " Rorisseau's  Dream"  with 
variations.  Beautiful  melody,  by  itself  first,  clear  and  dis- 
tinct. Only  the  slightest  possible  intimation  of  the  coming 
variations  given  by  one  little  note  which  is  not  in  the 
original  air. 

Perhaps  arranged  for  performance  in  Nova  Scotia. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Turn  over. 

"  No,  not  yet,  thank  you."     Too  early. 

A  peculiarly  harmonized  version  of  the  air  announces  the 
approach  of  variations.  Two  notes  at  a  time  instead  of  one. 
The  "Dream"  still  to  be  distinguished.  Miss  Pellingle 
jerks  her  eye  at  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Turn  over. 

Beg  pardon :  two  pages.  Miss  Pellingle's  right  hand 
now  swoops  down  on  the  country  occupied  by  the  left, 
finds  part  of  the  tune  there,  and  plays  it.  Left  hand  makes 
a  revengeful  raid  into  right-hand  country,  bringing  its  part 
of  the  tune  up  there,  and  trying  to  divert  the  enemy's  atten- 
tion from  the  bass. 

They  meet  in  the  middle.  Scrimmage.  Tune  utterly 
lost 

Happy  Thought.  —  Turn  over. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  247 

Too  late.  Steam  on :  hurried  nod  of  thanks.  Now 
again.  The  right  hand,  it  seems,  has  left  some  of  the  tune 
in  the  left  hand's  country,  which  the  latter  finds,  and  tries 
to  produce.  Right  hand  comes  out  with  bass  accompani- 
ment in  the  treble,  and  left  hand  gives  in.  Both  meet  for 
the  second  time.  Scrimmage. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Between  two  hands  "  Rousseau's 
Dreatn"  falls  to  the  ground. 

Now  the  air  tries  to  break  out  between  alternate  notes, 
like  a  prisoner  behind  bars.  Then  we  have  a  variation 
entirely  bass. 

Happy  Thought. — Rousseau  snoring. 

Then  a  scampering  up,  a  meeting  with  the  right  hand,  a 
scampering  down,  and  a  leap  off  one  note  into  space.  Then 
both  in  the  middle,  wobbling  ;  then  down  into  the  bass 
again. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Rousseau  after  a  heavy  supper. 

A  plaintive  variation.  —  Rousseau  in  pain. 

General  idea  of  Rousseau  vainly  trying  to  catch  the  air  in 
his  own  dream. 

Light  strain  :  Mazourka  time.  —  Rousseau  kicking  in  his 
sleep. 

Grand  finishing  up ;  festival  style,  as  if  Rousseau  had 
got  out  of  bed,  asked  all  his  friends  suddenly  to  a  party, 
and  was  dancing  in  his  dressing-gown.  I  call  it,  impul- 
sively, by  a 


248  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  " Rousseau's  Nightmare" 
All  over.  Miss  Pellingle  is  sorry  to  have  troubled  me  : 
I  am  sorry  she  did.  Wish  she  'd  go  and  play  it  to  the 
Nova-Scotians.  I  leave  her  abruptly,  seeing  Milburd  has 
quitted  his  place  and  Miss  Fridoline  is  alone.  I  sit  down 
by  her.  (Note.  I  ought  to  have  spoken  first  and  sat  after- 
wards.) 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  "  I  've  been  trying  to  speak  to 
you  all  the  evening."  (Very  hot  and  choky.) 

She  replies,  "Indeed?"  I  say,  "Yes."  Think  111  say 
that  I  wanted  to  explain  my  conduct  to  her  :  think  I  won't. 

Happy  Thought.  —  "  Hope  you  're  going  to  stop  here 
some  time  ? " 

I  explain  that  I  don't  mean  on  the  ottoman,  but  in  the 
house.  "  O,  then,"  she  says,  "  not  on  the  ottoman."  That 
was  rude  of  me  ;  accordingly,  I  explain  again.  My  ex- 
planations resemble  Miss  Pellingle's  variations,  and,  I  feel, 
mystify  the  subject  considerably.  I  tell  her  I  am  so  de- 
lighted to  meet  her  again.  I  am  going  to  say  that  I  hope 
she  is  delighted  at  seeing  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Better  not  say  it :  think  it 
Want  a  general  subject  for  conversation. 

Happy  Thought  (after  a  pause}.  —  Her  mother. 
Say  what  a  nice  old  lady  her  mother  is.     Said  it.    I  wish 
I  had  n't,  it 's  so  absurd  to  compliment  a  person  on  having 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  249 

a  mother.  Say  I  didn't  know  her  father  before  to-night: 
stupid  this.  She  says,  "  I  hope  we  shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  when  you  visit  our  part  of  the  world  again," 
—  meaning  Plyte  Fraser's  part  of  the  world. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Express  rapturous  hope.  Hint  that 
there  may  be  obstacles.  "What  obstacles?"  Now  to 
begin  :  allude  first  to  interchange  of  sympathies,  then  to 
friendship,  then  to  — 

Byng  begs  pardon.  He  wants  to  speak  to  me.  He  and 
Milburd  have  got  some  fun,  he  says.  The  evening  's  dull, 
and  we  must  do  something  cheerful  at  Christmas-time. 
Byng  mentions  charades,  and  dressing  up. 

Milburd  suggests  "  wax-works."  Byng  asks  "  How  ?  " 
Milburd  explains  that  /  am  to  be  the  wax-work  figure,  and 
that  he  will  put  me  in  different  positions  and  lecture  on  me. 
I  am,  he  says,  to  be  dressed  up  and  treated,  in  fact,  like  a 
lay-figure. 

Before  Fridoline  ?    No. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  we  '11  do  this  to-morrow  night 
with  more  preparation. 

Byng  says  we  must  do  something  now,  and,  as  a  prepara- 
tory step,  we  all  three  leave  the  room. 


11* 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 

I  AM  DRESSED  UP.  —  REHEARSAL  IN  THE  KITCHEN.  — 
PERFORMANCE  IN  DRAWING-ROOM.  —  FIASCO.  —  FAMILY 
PRAYERS.  —  ARRANGEMENTS  FOR  A  RIDE. 

YNG  takes  Milburd  and  myself  aside.  "What 
Christmassy  sort  of  thing,"  asks  Byng,  "can 
we  do  to  amuse  them  ? "  Milburd  suggests 
charades.  I  think  we  can't  get  them  up.  Mil- 
burd says,  "  Get  'em  up  in  a  second.  Cork  a  pair  of  mus- 
tachios  and  flour  your  face."  I  admit  this  is  all  very  well, 
but  we  want  scenery.  Byng  doubtful.  Milburd  pooh-poohs 
scenery,  and  says,  "  There  are  folding-doors  in  the  drawing- 
room  ;  and  chairs  and  table-cloths.  Only  want  a  word." 
We  can't  think  of  a  word. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Get  a  dictionary. 

We  try  A.     Abaft.     Milburd  says  that 's  it 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  say,  on  board  ship  in  the  back 
drawing-room.  Milburd  catches  the  idea.  First  syllable  : 
A.  Byng  asks  "  How  ? "  So  do  I.  Milburd  explains ; 
"  A :  cockneyism  for  Hay :  some-  one  makes  A  when  the 
sun  shines."  Byng  interrupts  with  a  question  as  to  how- 
the  sun  is  to  be  done.  Milburd  says,  "  O,  imagine  the 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  251 

sun."    Baft.     Let 's  see  how  's  Baft  to  be  done.     Silence. 
Puzzler. 

Happy  Thought,  —  Try  something  else. 

Byng  says  that  once  when  he  was  in  a  country  house  he 
dressed  up  as  a  monk,  and  frightened  a  lot  of  people. 
We  laugh.  Byng  suggests  that  that  would  n't  be  bad  fun. 
His  half-aunt  is  easily  taken  in. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Dress  up  and  frighten  his  half-aunt. 

Byng 's  got  it.  He  '11  get  the  dress.  I  enter  into  the  prop- 
osition. Prefer  talking  to  Fridoline.  Milburd  shall  disarm 
suspicion  by  going  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  saying, 
that  a  great  friend  of  Byng's  has  just  arrived  from  Germany, 
and  that  Byng  is  receiving  him.  Milburd  undertakes  this 
part  of  the  business.  Byng  says  (to  me)  "  Come  along :  I  '11 
dress  you  up."  I  object.  Byng  says,  "  It 's  like  Mummers 
in  the  olden  time."  I  never  could  see  the  fun  of  Mummers 
in  the  olden  time.  I  suggest  that  Milburd  is  better  at  this 
sort  of  thing,  and  7'11  go  back  to  the  drawing-room  and  dis- 
arm suspicion.  Byng  is  obstinate :  he  says  it  will  spoil 
everything  if  I  don't  dress  up.  Milburd  points  out  what 
capital  fun  it  will  be.  "  No  one,"  he  says,  "will  know  you." 
Perhaps  not :  but  where  's  the  fun  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Do  it  another  night. 

They  won't.  Do  it  now.  Byng  appears  annoyed :  he 
thought  I  should  enjoy  this  sort  of  thing.  I  say,  "  So  I  do  : 
no  one  more,"  only  I  can't  help  imagining  that  Fridoline 


252  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

will  think  me  an  idiot.  It  is  settled.  Milburd  goes  down 
stairs.  Byng  takes  me  to  a  lumber-room.  I  am  to  repre- 
sent his  friend  just  arrived  from  Germany.  After  rum- 
maging in  some  boxes  and  closets,  he  produces  a  large 
cocked  hat  with  feathers,  a  hussar's  jacket,  a  pair  of  cav- 
alier breeches,  pink  stockings,  russet  boots,  and  a  monk's 
cloak  with  a  cowl.  He  is  delighted.  Whom  am  I  to  rep- 
resent ? 

Happy  Thought  (which  strikes  Byng).  —  Represent  eccen- 
tric friend  from  Germany.  He  must  be  a  very  eccentric 
friend  to  come  in  such  a  dress.  I  point  out  that  it  can't 
take  any  one  in  :  not  even  his  half-aunt.  He  says  it  will. 
His  half-aunt  must  be  remarkably  weak. 

When  I  've  got  on  the  stockings  and  boots,  I  protest 
against  the  breeches.  "  Spoil  the  whole  thing  if  you  don't 
put  on  the  breeches,"  says  Byng.  I  am  dressed.  I  say,  "  I 
can't  go  down  like  this."  Byng  's  got  it  again.  What  ? 

Happy  Thought  (second  which  strikes  Byng).  —  False 
nose.  Red  paint 

Stop  !     He  has  n't  got  any  red  paint. 

Happy  Thought.  —  What  a  blessing  !  A  new  idea  strikes 
him.  Pink  tooth-powder  will  do  just  as  well :  and  lip-salve. 

He  won't  let  me  look  in  the  glass  until  he  has  finished 
with  me.  When  he  's  done,  I  see  myself,  and  protest  again. 
He  says,  "  Nonsense  :  it 's  capital  :  he  will  just  see  if  the 
road  's  clear,  and  then  we  '11  go  down  stairs."  He  leaves 
me. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  253 

Happy  Thought  (while  alone).  —  Undress  before  he  comes 
back. 

First  Reflection  in  glass  :  What  an  ass  I  do  look  !  Second 
Reflection,  What  an  idiot  I  was  to  let  them  dress  me  up ! 
Resolution,  Never  do  it  again.  If  I  had  got  to  act  a  regu- 
lar part,  with  words  written,  I  should  n't  mind ;  or  even  in 
a  charade  ;  or  if  every  one  was  dressed  up  as  well  ;  or  if 
Milburd  or  some  one  else  was  dressed  up  ;  but  this  is  so 
stupid  !  If  I  don't  go  on  with  it,  Old  Byng  will  be  annoyed, 
and  won't  ask  me  again,  and  Byng's  is  a  very  jolly  place  to 
stay  at.  If  I  'd  known  that  there  were  people  here,  and 
this  sort  of  thing  was  going  to  happen,  I  should  n't  have 
come.  I  should  n't  mind  it  so  much  if  Fridoline  was  n't 
here.  I  can't  go  and  sit  by  her,  and  talk  to  her  seriously, 
with  a  false  nose,  burnt  cork,  pink  tooth-powder,  and  red 
lip-salve  on  my  face.  I  won't  go.  [Analyzing  this  feeling 
afterwards,  with  a  view  to  Chap.  8,  Book  X.  Typical 
Developments,  I  conclude  it  to  be  a  phase  of  False  Pride.] 

Byng  returns  :  radiant.  I  follow  him,  dismally,  down  the 
back  stairs.  We  are  not,  it  appears,  going  into  the  drawing- 
room.  Byng  opens  a  door.  The  kitchen.  The  cook,  two 
housemaids,  and  a  footman,  engaged  on  some  meal.  They 
rise  ;  uncomfortably.  Byng  says,  "  Mrs.  Wallett  "  (address- 
ing the  cook),  "  here  's  a  gentleman  from  Germany."  Where- 
at the  cook  and  the  two  housemaids  giggle  awkwardly. 
They  're  not  taken  in :  not  a  bit.  They  pretend  to  be 
amused,  to  please  Byng.  Does  n't  Byng  see  through  such 
toadyism  ?  The  footman  smiles  superciliously,  and  I  feel 
\hat  none  of  them  will  ever  respect  me  again.  The  butler 


254  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

enters :  he  is  sufficiently  condescending  to  pronounce  it 
very  good.  Cook  evidently  feeling  it  necessary  to  make 
some  sort  of  observation,  says,  "  Well,  she  should  n't  ha' 
known  me  ;  she  should  n't,"  which  the  housemaids  echo. 
They  are  all  bored.  Footman  patronizingly,  as  if  he  could 
have  acted  the  part  better  himself —  {Happy  Thought  (which 
occurs  to  me  in  the  kitchen}.  Wish  we  had  dressed  up  the 
footman.]  —  observes  to  his  master,  "  The  gentleman 
does  n't  talk,  sir."  Impudent  fellow  :  I  know  he  '11  be 
insolent  to  me,  after  this,  as  long  as  I  'm  here.  Great  mis- 
take of  Byng's.  Byng  explains  that  I  (in  my  character  of 
eccentric  friend  from  Germany)  only  speak  German  ;  and 
asks  me,  Sprarkenzee  Dytch  ?  which  he  considers  to  be  the 
language. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Yah.     Also  Mynheer. 

I  do  wish  (behind  my  false  nose  and  tooth-powder)  that  I 
could  be  funny.  I  feel  that  if  in  this  dress  I  could  do 
something  clever,  I  should  have  the  best  of  it.  As  it  is  I  'm 
a  sort  of  tame  monkey  led  about  by  Byng.  I  ought  to  go 
out  of  the  kitchen  funnily :  I  don't.  Rather  sneak  out, 
after  Byng.  I  'm  sure  the  servants  hate  me  :  I  wish  Byng 
had  n't  disturbed  them  at  their  meal. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  to  Byng,  in  the  passage,  "  I  don't 
think  there  's  much  fun  to  be  got  out  of  this."  He  replies, 
"  Nonsense  ;  must  frighten  my  aunt" 

I  would  give  ten  pounds  if  Fridoline  were,  at  this  moment, 
in  the  next  county.  Suppose  she  should  think  I  'd  been 
drinking  ! 


HAPPY  THOUGHTS.  2$5 

We  are  in  the  drawing-room.  Fridoline  is  singing  and 
playing.  Milburd  is  waiting  on  her.  The  elderly  people 
are  engaged  in  conversation,  or  dozing.  The  younger  are 
playing  the  race-game  with  counters  and  dice,  and  some 
are  looking  over  pictures.  Four  elders,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Symperson,  the  half-aunt  and  whole-uncle,  are  at  whist 
"  They  are  enjoying  themselves,"  I  say  to  Byng,  "  why 
disturb  them  ?  " 

Byng  is  inexorable. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  back  and  undress  before  they  see 
me. 

Byng  introduces  me  loudly,  "  Herr  Von  Downyvassel 
from  Germany."  Every  one  is  interrupted  :  every  one  is, 
more  or  less,  obliged  to  laugh.  I  see  it  at  once  :  I  am  a 
bore.  Byng  takes  me  up  to  his  half-aunt  at  whist ;  she  is 
not  frightened,  but  only  says,  "  What  a  dreadful  creature  ! " 
and  the  four  players  laugh  once  out  of  compliment  to  Byng, 
and  go  on  with  their  game  again.  Milburd  ought  to  help 
me  :  he  won't.  He  does  n't  even  take  any  notice  of  me. 
Miss  Fridoline  merely  turns  her  head  and  continues  her 
Italian  song.  Byng,  having  failed  in  frightening  his  half- 
aunt,  leaves  me,  and  goes  to  find  some  book  of  pictures  for 
Miss  Pellingle.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  Dance  ?  Sing  ?  I 
think  I  hear  one  of  the  party  engaged  at  the  race-game 
say,  "  What  stupid  nonsense  !  "  I  should  like  to  dress  him 
up.  I  'd  rub  the  red  powder  into  him. 

Gong  sounds.     For  what  ? 

The  butler  enters  and  whispers  the  elders,  who  rise 


256  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

sedately.  The  guests  begin  leaving  the  room  gravely :  I 
am  following.  Milburd  asks  me  if  I  'm  coming  as  I  am. 
Coming  where  ?  Don't  I  know?  Family  Prayers.  Byng 
is  very  strict,  and  whenever  there  's  a  clergyman  in  the 
house,  he  has  Family  Prayers.  The  whole-uncle,  I  dis- 
cover, is  a  Reverend.  You  would  n't  know  it  to  look  at 
him,  but  you  would  n't  know  me,  now,  to  look  at  me.  In 
my  false  nose,  dragoon  jacket,  tooth-powder,  and  lip-salve, 
I  am  a  heathen.  They  want  a  missionary  for  me.  Thinking 
deeply,  what  can  mere  outward  adornment  matter  ?  The 
dress  is  nothing,  —  and  yet  — 

They  are  at  prayers.  I  am  not.  An  outcast  in  a  Tom- 
fool's dress.  I  think  I  now  see  why  the  clergy  object  to 
the  stage. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  to  bed. 

I  resume  my  dress.  It  would  be  cowardice  to  go  to  bed. 
I  wait  for  them  to  come  to  the  smoking-room.  They  come 
in,  ladies  and  all,  after  prayers,  remarkably  fresh  and  cheer- 
ful. Conversation  general :  no  allusion  to  my  dressing 
up. 

Getting  near  Fridoline  I  refer  to  it.  She  owns  she 
thought  it  stupid  :  I  tell  her,  so  did  I.  She  hopes  it  will  be 
a  fine  day  to-morrow.  So  do  I.  "  Can't  we,"  I  suggest, 
"  take  a  walk  ?  "  I  want  to  say  "  together,"  thereby  intimat- 
ing that  I  want  no  other  companions.  She  replies,  "  Or  a 
ride,"  adding  enthusiastically,  "  Do  ride  ;  you  do,  of  course." 
"  I  do,"  I  tell  her ;  "  but  regret  that  I  can't  get  a  horse." 
This  presents  no  difficulty  to  her.  Mr.  Byng  lends  her  one 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  257 

of  his.  Byng  says,  "  Yes,  Milburd  has  the  chestnut,  I  ride 
the  bay,  and  I  can  get  a  very  good  one  for  you,"  to  me, 
"from  Brett's  stables  in  the  village."  "That,"  cries 
Fridoline,  "  will  be  delightful  !  " 

I  say  to  her  rapturously,  that  I  look  forward  to  it  with 
pleasure.  So  I  do  as  far  as  going  with  her  is  concerned. 
But  I  feel  obliged  to  explain  to  her  that  I  have  n't  ridden 
for  some  time.  She  tells  me  that  she  has  n't  ridden  for 
some  time,  either.  This  consoles  me  to  a  certain  degree  : 
but  I  mean  years,  she  only  means  months.  She  tells  me, 
sotto  voce,  that  Byng  is  not  a  fast  goer,  so  he  and  Milburd 
may  ride  together,  and  that  we  '11  (she  and  I)  have  a  good 
gallop. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Alone  with  her  !  Galloping  through 
the  woods  !  Only,  after  a  time,  would  n't  she  be  alone 

without  me  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Talk  about  hunting,  —  stiff  countries, 
—  fences,  —  brooks.  [Thank  goodness,  no  hunting  here  !  ] 

She  is  all  life  and  animation,  and  anxious  for  to-morrow's 
ride  with  me.  I  'd  rather  it  was  a  drive  than  a  ride.  "  She 
likes,"  she  says,  "  riding  'cross  country."  She  is  sorry 
that  we  shall  only  have  roads  here. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Roads  !  hooray  !  Twenty  to  one 
against  falling  off  on  a  road. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say,  "  Ah,  pity  there  's  no  'cross 
country."  I  mean  for  her. 

Q 


258  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Ladies  now  retire.  Milburd  wants  to  be  officious,  but 
she  takes  her  candlestick  from  me.  She  looks  to  me  for  a 
light  from  the  gas.  I  look  at  her,  and  find  (when  she  draws 
my  attention  to  it)  that  I  am  holding  the  flame  about  an 
inch  away  from  the  wick.  I  detain  her  hand  for  one 
second.  I  just  — 

Happy  Thought.  —  Sympathetic  electricity.  Write  a 
chapter  this  evening  in  Typical  Developments. 

Her  last  words,  "  Mind  you  see  about  your  horse  the  first 
thing  to-morrow  :  I  should  be  so  disappointed  if  you  did  n't 
get  it." 

I  will  get  it.  Ride  —  anywhere  —  everywhere  !  For 
her,  —  and  with  her!  Still  I  do  wish  it  was  riding  in  a 
carriage. 

When  I  return  to  the  smoking-room,  Byng  observes 
that  he  did  n't  know  I  cared  about  riding. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say,  "  O  yes,  very  much,  only 
don't  often  get  the  chance."  This  will  prepare  them  fat 
seeing  me  a  little  awkward,  as  if  I  was  out  of  practice. 

Do  I  hunt  ? 

"  No,"  I  return  carelessly.  "  Not  much.  I  've  given  it 
up  for  a  long  time." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Not  to  say  that  I  only  went  out  once 
years  ago,  and  could  n't  find  the  hounds.  Gave  it  up  after  this. 

Milburd  gives  us  anecdotes  of  his  horses  :  so  does  Byng. 
I  come  away  with  this  general  impression  about  horses, 
derived  from  their  conversation  :  — 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  259 

istly.  "  If  you  know  something  about  it,  you  can  buy  a 
horse  for  next  to  nothing ;  one  you  can  ride,  drive,  and 
hunt,  and  be  invaluable  to  you." 

2ndly.  "  That  it 's  cheaper  to  keep  a  horse  than  not." 

3rdly.  "  That  I  certainly  ought  to  have  a  horse." 

So  to  bed. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

THE  RIDE.  —  I  PREPARE  TO   GO   OUT   WITH   THE  DISHLING 
PACK. 

TARY  and  Notes  for  "  Typical  Developments." 
—  Byng's  place  is  curiously  situated.  Some 
people  say  it 's  in  one  county,  some  in  another. 
Three  maps  have  it.  So  that  even  Geography 
fails  in  this  case.  Byng  himself  is  uncertain,  but  has  a 
leaning  towards  Hampshire,  as  savoring  of  the  Forest 
(which  is  within  a  hundred  miles  or  so)  and  of  old  families. 
The  Telegraphic  Guide  and  the  Postal  Guide  differ  as  to 
the  locality.  Among  its  disadvantages  may  be  reckoned 
the  fact  that  you  can  get  to  Byng's  by  five  different  lines  of 
rail  from  London,  each  one  presenting  some  few  lesser, 
some  few  greater,  inconveniences.  On  one  line  you  go 
through  as  far  as  Stopford,  then  wait  for  the  half  past  ten 
from  Thistleborough,  which,  being  an  opposition,  makes  it- 
self as  disagreeable  as  possible,  arriving  late,  snobbishly, 
to  show  its  consequence,  going  beyond  its  mark,  shunting 
backwards,  grunting  forwards,  coquetting  with  the  platform, 
frightening  the  passengers  who  are  taking  refreshment,  and, 
in  short,  behaving  generally  in  a  very  ill-conditioned  manner. 
On  another  line  to  Byng's,  you  change  three  times  ;  but 
you  get  there,  on  the  whole,  quicker  than  by  the  Stopford 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  261 

Junction  one.  By  this  train  you  may  calculate  upon  some 
difficulty  with  your  luggage.  On  a  third  you  only  change 
once,  and  then  you  are  taken  away  in  an  apparently  totally 
contrary  direction  to  that  in  which  you  want  to  go.  This 
causes  anxiety,  references  to  guide-books,  searching  ques- 
tions of  guards  and  porters  as  to  what  the  name  of  the 
next  station  is  (checking  them  by  Bradshavu},  and  as  to 
the  time  of  arrival  at  one's  destination.  The  fourth  has 
only  two  trains  in  the  day  which  stop  at  Byng's  station. 
If  you  want  to  go  down  to  Byng's  either  very  early  in  the 
morning  or  very  late  at  night,  you  can't  do  better  than  go  by 
line  No.  4.  The  fifth  is  uncertain,  slow,  safe,  and  only  stops 
if  you  give  notice  previously  to  the  guard,  —  which  regula- 
tion you  discover  after  you  've  passed  Byng's  station.  I 
note  all  these  things,  because  in  Typical  Developments^ 
Vol.  XL,  Book  XVI.,  when  I  come  to  touch  upon  Geog- 
raphy and  Geology,  I  shall  be  then  able  to  offer  to  the  world 
some  theories  on  the  probabilities  of  iron  veins,  coal 
strata,  and  chalk  rock  in  this  part  of  England.  For  this 
part  unites  in  itself  the  peculiarities  of  the  low  marsh  of 
Essex,  the  gravelly  soil  of  Surrey,  the  woods  of  Hamp- 
shire, the  rich  meadows  of  Kent,  the  plains  of  Leicester- 
shire, and  the  downs  of  Sussex.  And  all  this  I  note  down, 
having  much  leisure,  and  being  very  tired,  but  dreadfully 
wakeful  at  night,  after  a  day  with  the  Dishling  Harriers. 
And  I  note  it  down  for  reasons  as  above  stated,  and  also 
to  account  to  myself  for  the  varied  country  through  which 
I  have  passed.  —  Diary. 

Morning.  —  Down    to   breakfast.      Earlier    than   usual. 


262  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Half-aunt  making  tea,      Milburd,  as   I   enter,   is   asking, 
"how  far  it  is." 

Byng  replies,  "  A  mere  trot  over." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Fridoline  looking  as  bright  as  Aurora. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Don't  say  it  :  keep  it  to  myself. 
Aurora  sounds  like  a  roarer,  and  the  ladies  might  n't 
like  it. 

"  So  soon  ? "  I  ask.  Don't  I  know  ?  "  No,  I  don't." 
"  O,"  says  Byng,  "we've  found  out  that  the  Dishling  pack 
meets  near  here  this  morning,  and  so  we  're  going  to  have 
a  run  with  them." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Have  a  run  without  me. 

"  I  suppose  he  has  n't  been  able  to  get  a  horse  for  me  ?  " 
I  ask  this  with  a  tinge  of  regret  in  my  voice.  If  he  says 
he  has  n't  been  able,  I  shall  be  sorry  ;  if  he  says  he  has  — 
why,  I  feel  I  must  take  my  chance. 

Happy  Thotight.  —  Lots  of  people  ride,  and  never  have 
an  accident. 

"  Has  n't  he  ?  "  he  returns,  heartily.  His  groom  (con- 
found him  !)  has  been  up  and  down  the  village  since  five 
o'clock,  and  has  hit  upon  a  very  good  one  —  about  sixteen 
one  —  well  up  to  my  weight.  "  Carry  you,  in  fact,"  says 
Milburd,  "like  a  child."  "I  suppose  he's  not  a  hunter, 
is  he  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  he  's  not  a  hunter,  of  course  I 
sha'  n't  risk  him  over  fences  and  ditches. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  263 

My  doubts  are  set  at  rest  by  the  groom,  who  enters  at 
that  moment.  He  informs  me  that  "  The  old  mare  was 
reg'lar  hunted  by  Mr.  Parsons,  and  with  you  (me)  on  his 
back,  sir,  she  '11  go  over  anything  a'most."  She  '11  go,  but 
will  If 

Fridoline  exclaims,  "  O,  how  delicious  !  Shall  we  have 
much  jumping?  It  is  such  fun!" 

Milburd  appears  to  know  the  country.  "  It 's  all  very 
easy,"  he  says.  "  Into  one  field,  pop  out  again,"  (this  is  his 
description,)  "  into  another,  over  a  hedge,  little  ditch,  gallop 
across  the  open,  little  brook  (nothing  to  speak  of),  sheep- 
hurdle,  and  then  perhaps  we  may  get  a  clear  burst  away  on 
the  downs. 

"  I  don't  care  about  downs  :  there  's  no  jumping  there  ! " 
says  Fridoline. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Keep  on  the  downs. 

I  notice,  on  their  rising  from  the  table,  that  Milburd  is  in 
tops  and  breeches,  and  that  Byng  is  in  breeches  and  black 
boots.  Both  wear  spurs. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  can't  hunt  as  I  am. 

The  whole-uncle  (who  is  not  going  —  the  coward  !)says  it 
won't  matter,  —  there 's  little  or  no  riding  required  with 
harriers.  He  pretends  to  wish  he  could  join  us,  —  old 
humbug !  I  wish  he  could.  I  should  like  to  see  him  pop- 
ping out  of  one  field  into  another  over  a  hedge. 

Byng  has  been  considering.  He  has  got  by  him  an  old 
pair  of  cords,  but  no  boots. 


264  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Can't  hunt  without  boots.  Great 
nuisance.  Better  give  it  up.  Don't  stop  for  me. 

A  Happy  Thought  occurs  to  Milburd.  —  Patent  leggings, 
fasten  with  springs.  Antigropelos. 

I  try  them  on.  They  do  fit  me  ;  at  least  I  imagine  so 
(meaning  the  hunting-breeches),  though,  never  having  worn 
hunting-breeches  before,  I  've  got  a  sort  of  idea  that 
they  're  not  quite  the  thing.  So  very  tight  in  the  knee- 
His  leggings  are  patent  antigropelos,  which  go  over  my 
stockings  and  boots.  When  I  am  dressed  I  walk  down 
stairs,  or  rather  waddle  down  stairs,  and  can't  help  remark- 
ing that  "  This  is  just  the  sort  of  dress  for  riding  in,"  or, 
by  the  way,  for  sitting  in ;  but  walking  is  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. [I  wonder  if  they  do  fit] 

Fridoline  who  looks  so  bewitching  in  her  habit  that  I 
could  fall  down  on  my  knees  and  offer  her  my  hand  at  once 
—  (my  knees  !  I  don't  think  they  do  fit;  and  I  question 
whether  this  costume  exhibits  the  symmetry  of  form  so  well 
as  the  modern  style),  —  Fridoline  says  that  I  look  quite 
military.  (She  means  it  as  a  compliment,  but  it  isn't; 
because  I  want  to  look  sportsmanlike)  In  antigropelos,  if 
like  anything,  I  resemble  the  Great  Napoleon  from  the 
knees.  Milburd  says  I  'm  not  unlike  the  master  of  the  ring 
in  a  French  circus.  I  can't  help  feeling  that  I  am  some- 
thing like  that,  or,  as  I  said  before,  the  Great  Napoleon. 
Milburd  remarks  I  ought  to  have  spurs.  I  object  to  spurs. 
I  feel  that  without  spurs  I  'm  tolerably  safe  ;  but  if  there  's 
a  question  of  a  spill,  spurs  will  settle  it.  That 's  my  feel- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  265 

ing  about  spurs.  I  only  say,  "  O,  don't  trouble  yourself." 
Byng  is  going  to  fetch  them  :  "  I  can  get  on  just  as  well 
without  spurs."  The  groom  says,  "  She  won't  want  spurs," 
which  awakens  me  to  the  fact  of  the  beast  being  now  at  the 
hall-door.  A  bright  chestnut,  very  tall,  broad,  and  swish- 
ing its  tail ;  with  a  habit  of  looking  back  without  turning 
its  head  (which  movement  is  unnatural;,  as  if  to  see  if  any 
one  is  getting  up.  I  ask  "Is  this  mine?"  I  feel  it  is.  It 
is.  I  can't  help  saying  jocosely,  as  a  reminder  to  others  to 
excuse  any  shortcomings  in  horsemanship  on  my  part,  "  I 
have  n't  ridden  for  ever  so  long  ;  I  'm  afraid  I  shall  be 
rather  stiff."  If  stiffness  is  all  I  've  to  fear,  I  don't  care. 
I  wish  we  were  coming  home  instead  of  starting.  "  Will  I 
help  Fridoline  up  ? "  I  will ;  if  only  to  cut  out  Milburd 
and  not  lose  an  opportunity.  What  a  difficult  thing  it  is  to 
help  a  lady  on  to  her  horse !  After  several  attempts  I  am 
obliged  to  give  in. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  must  practise  this  somewhere. 
Private  lesson  in  a  riding-school.  I  feel  I  've  fallen  in  her 
estimation.  I  feel  I  'm  no  longer  the  bold  dragoon  to  her. 
I  apologize  for  my  feebleness.  She  says  it  does  n't  matter. 
Misery!  to  fail  and  be  feeble  before  the  woman  you  adore. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

I  MOUNT  MY  GALLANT  CHESTNUT.  —  THOUGHTS  ON  RID- 
ING. —  ANTIGROPELOS.  —  THE  TROT.  —  THE  CANTER.  — 
THE  GALLOP.  —  HUNTING. 

[JO,  this  is  the  horse  from  Brett's  stables  in  the 
village,  which  they  talked  about  last  night.  I 
should  n't  have  had  it  if  Mr.  Parsons,  who 
always  rides  it  with  the  Harriers,  "  had  n't  come 
rather  a  nasty  cropper"  at  Deepford  Mill,  and  won't  be 
able  to  go  out  again  for  a  fortnight.  The  groom  thinks 
I  'm  in  luck.  Hope  so.  It  was  off  this  horse  that  poor 
Parsons  "  came  a  nasty  cropper."  Miss  Pellingle,  on  the 
doorstep,  says,  "  What  a  pretty  creature ! "  and  observes 
that  she  's  always  heard  chestnuts  are  so  fiery.  I  return 
"  Indeed ! "  carelessly,  as  if  I  possessed  Mr.  Rarey's  secret, 
The  whole-uncle  (from  a  window)  suggests  that  "  perhaps 
you  'd  rather  have  a  roast  chestnut."  People  laugh.  Groom 
laughs.  At  me. 

Happy  Thought.  — "  How  ill  gray  hairs  become  a  fool 
and  jester."  Shakespeare,  I  think.  What  happy  thoughts 
Shakespeare  had.  So  applicable  to  a  stupid  old  idiot.  Keep 
this  to  myself. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  267 

Mounting.  —  I  don't  know  any  work  on  equestrianism 
which  adequately  deals  with  the  difficulty  of  equalizing  the 
length  of  stirrups.  You  don't  find  out  that  one  leg  is  longer 
than  the  other,  until  you  get  on  horseback  for  the  first  time 
after  several  years.  The  right  is  longer  than  the  left. 
Having  removed  that  inconvenience,  the  left  is  longer  than 
the  right.  One  hole  up  will  do  it.  "  One  down  ? "  asks  the 
groom.  I  mean  one  down. 

Happy  Thought  (just  in  time).  —  No  ;  I  mean  up. 

Groom  stands  in  front  of  me,  as  if  I  was  a  picture. 
Placing  no  further  reliance  on  my  own  judgment,  I  ask 
him,  "  if  it 's  all  right  now."  He  says  "  Yes,"  decidedly. 
From  subsequent  experience,  I  believe  he  makes  the  an- 
swer merely  to  save  himself  trouble.  Byng,  on  horseback, 
curvetting,  cries  "  Come  along ! "  If  mine  curvets  or 
caracoles  where  shall  I  be  ?  Perhaps  the  brute  caracoled 
or  curvetted  at  Deepford  Mill,  when  poor  Parsons  "  came  " 
that  "  nasty  cropper." 

Happy  Thought.  —  Sport  in  the  olden  time.  Hawking. 
People  generally  sat  still,  in  one  place,  watching  a  hawk. 
Not  much  exercise,  perhaps,  but  safe.  Why  don't  they  re- 
vive hawking  ? 

Milburd  wants  to  know  if  I  'm  going  to  be  all  day.  Fri- 
doline's  horse  is  restive  ;  the  other  two  are  restive.  I  wish 
they  were  n't.  Mine  wants  to  be  restive :  if  he  goes  on 
suddenly,  I  go  off. 


268  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  I  do  come  a  nasty  cropper  like 
Parsons,  I  hope  I  shall  do  it  alone,  or  before  strangers 
only. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  mane. 

I  like  being  comfortable  before  I  start.  Stop  one  minute. 
One  hole  higher  up  on  the  right.  The  whole-uncle,  who  is 
watching  the  start  —  [Old  coward  !  he  dare  n't  even  come 
off  the  doorstep,  and  has  asked  me  once  if  I  won't  "  take 
some  jumping-powder."  He  'd  be  sorry  for  his  fun  if  I  was 
borne  home  on  a  stretcher  after  a  "  nasty  cropper."  I  al- 
most wish  I  was,  just  to  give  him  a  lesson.  —  I  mean  if  I 
was  n't  hurt.]  —  says,  "  Are  n't  those  girths  rather  loose  ? " 
The  groom  sees  it  for  the  first  time.  He  begins  tightening 
them.  Horse  does  n't  like  it.  "  Woo  !  poor  fellow  !  good 
old  man,  I  mean  good  old  woman,  then."  Horse  puts 
back  its  ears,  and  tries  to  make  himself  into  a  sort  of  arch. 
I  don't  know  what  happens  when  a  horse  puts  back  its 
ears. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  Milburd. 

He  answers  "  Kicks."  Ah  !  I  know  what  happens  if  he 
kicks.  That  would  be  the  time  for  the  nasty  cropper.  This 
expression  will  hang  about  my  memory.  "  All  right  now  ?  " 
Quite.  Still  wrong  about  the  stirrups :  one  dangling,  the 
other  lifting  my  knee  up  ;  but  won't  say  anything  more,  or 
Fridoline  may  think  me  a  nuisance. 

Two  reins.  Groom  says,  "  She  goes  easy  on  the  snaffle. 
Pulls  a  little  at  first ;  but  you  need  n't  hold  her."  I  shall, 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  269 

though.  Trotting,  I  am  told,  is  her  "great  pace."  The 
reins  are  confused.  One  ought  to  be  white,  the  other  black, 
to  distinguish  them.  Forget  which  fingers  you  put  them  in. 
Must  n't  let  the  groom  see  this. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Take  'em  up  carelessly,  anyhow. 
Watch  Byng. 

We  are  walking.  My  horse  very  quiet.  Footman  runs 
after  me.  Idiot,  to  come  up  abruptly  ;  enough  to  frighten 
any  horse.  If  you  're  not  on  your  guard,  you  come  off  so 
easily.  "  Here  's  a  whip."  "  O,  thank  you."  Right  hand 
for  whip,  and  left  for  reins,  like  Byng  ?  Or,  left  hand  for 
whip  and  right  for  reins,  like  Milburd  ?  Or,  both  in  one 
hand,  like  Fridoline  ?  Walking  gently.  As  we  go  along 
Milburd  points  out  nice  little  fences,  which  "your  beast 
would  hop  over."  —  Yes,  by  herself. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Like  riding.  Fresh  air  exhilarating. 
Shall  buy  a  horse.  N.  B.  —  Shall  buy  a  horse  which  will 
walk  as  fast  as  other  horses  ;  not  jog.  Irritating  to  jog.  If 
I  check  him,  he  jerks  his  head,  and  hops.  Fridoline  calls 
him  "  showy."  Wonder  if,  to  a  spectator,  I  'm  showy ! 
Passing  by  a  village  grocer's. 

Happy  Thought.  —  See  myself  in  the  window.  Not  bad  ; 
but  hardly  "  showy."  Antigropelos  effective. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  I  stay  long  here,  buy  a  saddle, 
and  stirrups  my  own  length.  My  weight,  when  he  jogs,  is 
too  much  on  one  stirrup. 


270  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Fridoline  asks,  "Is  n't  this  delightful  ?  "  I  say,  "  Charm- 
ing." Milburd  talks  of  riding  as  a  science.  He  says,  "  The 
great  thing  in  leaping  is  to  keep  your  equilibrium." 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  pummel. 

"  Shall  we  trot  on  ? "  If  we  don't  push  along,  Byng  says 
we  shall  never  reach  Pounder's  Barrow,  where  the  Harriers 
meet.  As  it  is,  we  shall  probably  be  too  late. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Plenty  of  time.  Need  n't  go  too  fast 
Tire  the  horses. 

My  left  antigropelo  has  come  undone.  The  spring  is 
weak,  I  can't  get  at  it.  My  horse  never  will  go  the  same 
pace  as  the  others.  The  groom  said  his  great  pace  was 
trotting.  He  is  trotting,  and  it  is  a  great  pace  ;  not  so 
much  for  speed  as  for  height.  He  trots  as  if  all  his  joints 
were  loose.  His  tail  appears  to  be  a  little  loose  in  the 
socket,  and  keeps  whisking  round  and  round,  judging  from 
the  sound.  I  go  up  and  down,  and  from  side  to  side. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Are  people  ever  sea-sick  from  riding? 

No  scientific  riding  here !  Can't  get  my  equilibrium. 
Ought  to  have  had  a  string  for  my  hat.  Cram  it  on.  I 
think,  from  the  horse's  habit  of  looking  back  sideways,  that 
he  's  seen  the  loose  antigropelo,  and  it  has  frightened  him. 
He  breaks  into  a  gallop.  It  feels  as  if  he  was  always 
stumping  on  one  leg.  He  changes  his  leg,  which  unsettles 
me.  He  changes  his  legs  every  minute.  Wish  I  could 
change  mine  for  a  pair  of  strong  ones  in  comfortable  boots 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  271 

and  breeches.  Thank  Heaven,  I  did  n't  have  spurs  !  Hope 
I  sha'  n't  drop  my  whip.  This  antigropelo  will  bring  me 
off,  sooner  or  later,  I  know  it  will. 

End  of  the  lane.  The  three  in  front.  I  wish  they  'd 
stop.  Mine  would  stop  then.  We  trot  again  —  suddenly. 
Painful. 

Happy  Thought.—  "  Let 's  look  at  the  view." 
Byng  cries,  "  Hang  the  view  !  —  here  's  a  beautiful  bit  of 
turf  for  a  canter."  We  break  (my  horse  and  I)  into  a  can- 
ter. He  breaks  into  the  canter  sooner  than  I  do,  as  I  've 
not  quite  finished  my  trot.  I  wish  it  was  a  military  saddle, 
with  bags  before  and  behind.  A  soldier  can't  come  off.  If 
the  antigropelo  goes  at  the  other  spring,  I  shall  lose  it  alto- 
gether. Horse  pulls  ;  wants  to  pass  them  all.  Hat  getting 
loose ;  antigropelo  flapping. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Squash  my  hat  down  anyhow,  tight. 

The  fresh  air  catches  my  nose.  I  feel  as  if  I  'd  a  violent 
cold.  There  's  no  comfort  in  riding  at  other  people's  pace. 
I  wish  they  'd  stop.  It's  very  unkind  of  them.  They  might 
as  well.  I  should  stop  for  them.  What  a  beast  this  is  for 
pulling  !  I  can't  make  him  feel. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  I  ride  again,  have  a  short  coat 
made,  without  tails. 

Everything  about  me  seems  to  be  flapping  in  the  wind  ; 
like  a  scarecrow.  Fridoline  does  n't  see  me.  What  an  un- 
comfortable thing  a  hard  note-book  is  in  a  tail-coat  pocket, 
when  cantering  and  bumping. 


272  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  End  of  canter.  Thank  Heavens  !  he 
(or  she]  stops  when  the  others  stop. 

Fridoline  looks  round  and  laughs.  She  is  in  high  spirits. 
In  an  attempt  to  wave  my  whip  to  her  with  my  right  hand, 
I  nearly  come  that  nasty  cropper  on  the  left  side.  Righted 
myself  by  the  mane  quietly.  What  would  a  horse  be  with- 
out a  mane  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  hard  road.  Walk.  Fasten  my 
antigropelo.  Tear  it  at  the  top  by  trying  the  spring  ex- 
citedly. 

Before  talking  to  her,  I  settle  my  hat  and  tie  ;  also  man- 
age my  pocket-handkerchief.  Feel  that  I  've  got  a  red  nose, 
and  don't  look  as  "showy"  as  I  did.  On  the  common  we 
fall  in  with  the  Harriers,  and  men  on  horseback,  in  green 
coats. 

Byng  knows  several  people,  and  introduces  them  to  Miss 
Fridoline.  He  does  n't  introduce  me  to  any  one.  We  pass 
through  a  gate,  into  a  ploughed  field.  The  dogs  are  scent- 
ing, or  something.  I  see  a  rabbit.  If  I  recollect  rightly, 
one  ought  to  cry  out,  "  Holloa ! "  or  "  Gone  away ! "  or 
"  Yoicks  !  "  If  I  do,  we  shall  all  be  galloping  about,  and 
hunting. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Better  not  say  anything  about  it.  It's 
the  dogs'  business. 

The  dogs  find  something.  Every  one  begins  cantering. 
Just  as  I  am  settling  my  hat,  and  putting  my  handkerchief 
into  my  pocket,  my  horse  breaks  into  a  canter.  Spring  of 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  273 

antigropelo  out  again.     It  is  a  long  field,  and  I  see  we  are, 
all  getting  towards  a  hedge.     The  dogs  disappear.     Green- 
coat  men  disappear  over  the  hedge.     I  suddenly  think  of 
poor  Parsons  and  the  nasty  cropper. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Stop  my  horse  :  violently. 

Our  heads  meet.  Hat  nearly  off.  Everybody  jumps  the 
hedge.  Perhaps  myhprse  won't  do  it.  If  I  only  had  spurs, 
I  might  take  him  at  it.  Some  one  gets  a  fall.  He  's  on  his 
own  horse.  If  he  falls,  I  shall.  He  did  n't  hurt  himself. 

Happy  Thought.  —  You  can  fall  and  not  hurt  yourself.  I 
thought  you  always  broke  your  neck,  or  leg. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Any  gap  ? 

None.  Old  gentleman,  on  a  heavy  gray,  says,  "  No  good 
going  after  them.  I  know  the  country."  Take  his  advice. 
If  I  lose  the  sport,  blame  him. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Hares  double  :  therefore  (logically) 
the  hare  will  come  back. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Stop  in  the  field. 

Try  to  fasten  antigropelo :  tear  it  more.  Trot  round 
quietly.  I  'm  getting  well  into  my  seat  now.  Should  n't 
mind  taking  him  at  the  hedge.  Too  late,  as  they  '11  be  back 
directly.  I  explain  to  old  gentleman  who  knows  the  coun- 
try, that  "  I  don't  like  leaping  hired  horses,  or  I  should  have 
12*  R 


274  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

taken  him  at  that  hedge."  Old  gentleman  thinks  I  'm  quite 
right.  .  So  do  I.  They  come  back  :  the  hare  first.  I  see 
him  and  cut  at  him  with  my  whip.  Old  gentleman  very 
angry.  I  try  to  laugh  it  off.  With  the  dogs  I  ride  through 
the  gate.  Capital  fun.  The  hare  is  caught  in  a  ditch  by 
the  roadside.  Old  gentleman  still  angry.  I  am  told  after- 
wards that  he  's  one  of  the  old  school  of  sportsmen,  who,  I 
suppose,  don't  cut  at  hares  with  a  whjp. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  am  in  at  the  death.  Say  "  Tally  ho  ! " 
to  myself. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  for  the  brush.  If  I  get  it,  present 
it  to  Fridoline. 

Milburd  laughs,  and  says  he  supposes  I  want  a  hare- 
brush. 

It  is  a  great  thing  to  possess  quick  perceptive  faculties. 
I  see  at  once  that  a  hare  has  no  brush,  and  treat  the  matter 
as  my  own  joke.  [Note  for  Typical  Developments,  Book 
XVI.,  "  Perception  of  the  Ridiculous."] 

After  looking  about  for  another  hare  for  half  an  hour,  my 
blood  is  not  so  much  up  as  it  was.  We  are  "  Away  "  again. 
The  hare  makes  for  the  hill.  We  are  galloping.  I  wish  I  'd 
had  my  stirrups  put  right  before  I  started.  A  shirt-button 
has  broken,  and  I  feel  my  collar  rucking  up  ;  my  tie  working 
round.  I  cram  my  hat  on  again.  There  's  something  hard 
projecting  out  of  the  saddle,  that  hurts  my  knees.  Woa  ! 
He  does  pull.  I  think  we  've  leapt  something  ;  a  ditch.  If 
so,  I  can  ride  better  than  I  thought.  What  pleasure  can  a 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  275 

horse  have  in  following  the  hounds  at  this  pace  !  Woa, 
woa  !  My  stirrup-straps  are  flying ;  my  antigropelos  on 
both  sides  have  come  undone  ;  my  breeches  pinch  my 
knees  ;  my  hat  wants  cramming  on  again.  In  doing  this 
I  drop  a  rein.  I  clutch  at  it.  I  feel  I  am  pulling  the  mar- 
tingale. Stop  for  a  minute  ;  I  am  so  tired.  No  one  will 
stop. 

Happy  Thought  (at  full  gallop).  —  "  You  Gentlemen  of 
England  who  live  at  home  at  ease,  how  little  do  you  think 
upon  "  the  dangers  of  this  infernal  hunting. 

Byng's  whole-uncle  is  at  home,  reading  his  Times.  Up  a 
hill  at  a  rush.  Down  a  hill.  Wind  rushing  at  me.  It 
makes  me  gasp  like  going  into  a  cold  bath.  Think  my 
shirt-collar  has  come  undone  on  one  side. 

Happy  Thought  (which  flashes  across  me).  —  Mazeppa. 
"  Again  he  urges  on  his  wild  career  !  "  Mazeppa  was  tied 
on,  though  :  I  'm  not. 

I  shall  lose  the  antigropelos.  Down  a  hill.  Up  a  hill 
slowly.  The  horse  is  walking,  apparently,  right  out  of  his 
saddle.  Will  he  miss  me  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  shall  come  off  over  his  tail. 

I  have  an  indistinct  idea  of  horsemen  careering  all  about 
me.  I  wish  some  one  would  stop  my  horse.  Suddenly  we 
all  stop.  I  cannon  against  the  old  gentleman  on  the  gray. 
Apology.  He  is  very  angry;  says,  "I  might  have  killed 
him."  Pooh ! 


276  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  this  is  hunting,  it  is  n't  so  difficult, 
after  alL  But  what's  the  pleasure  ? 

The  hounds  are  scenting  again.  Stupid  countryman  says 
he  's  seen  a  hare  about  here.  Delight  of  everybody.  All 
these  big  men,  horses,  and  dogs  after  a  timid  hare  !  Why 
does  n't  the  Society  for  Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Animals 
interfere  ?  I  thought  they  always  shot  hares.  The  dogs 
have  got  their  tails  up,  and  are  whining.  They  are  un- 
happy. If  they  find  a  hare  they  give  that  countryman  a 
shilling. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Shall  write  to  old  Boodels,  and  tell 
him  I  'm  going  out  with  the  hounds  every  day.  Wish  I  was 
at  home  in  an  arm-chair.  I  've  not  come  the  "  nasty  crop- 
per "  as  yet ;  but  the  day  's  not  over. 


CHAPTER    XXXVII. 

I    URGE   ON   MY   GALLANT  CHESTNUT.  —  A  DREADFUL  SIT- 
UATION. —  THE   STAGGERS.  —  A   HAPPY   RELEASE. 

!SK  a  countryman  to  fasten  my  antigropelos. 
Sixpence.  Can  he  alter  my  stirrups  ?  '  He 
does ;  not  satisfactorily.  The  hounds  make  a 
^\  noise,  and  before  the  countryman  has  finished 
my  stirrups  we  are  off.  Nearly  off  altogether.  I  sha'  n't 
come  out  again.  Up  another  hill.  This  is  part  of  the 
down  country.  My  horse  is  beginning  to  get  tired.  He  '11 
go  quieter.  Every  one  passes  me.  Get  on !  get  up  ! 
Tchk  !  He  is  panting.  Get  on  !  tchk  !  I  feel  excited.  I 
should  like  to  be  on  a  long  way  ahead,  in  full  cry,  taking 
brooks,  fences,  and  ditches.  Get  on!  Get  along,  -will 
you  ?  tchk  !  What  an  obstinate  brute  !  I  think  I  could 
take  him  over  that  first  hedge  now.  I  find  my  legs  kicking 
him.  It  has  no  effect  First  tchking,  then  kicking  !  I  'd 
give  something  to  be  at  home.  Dropped  my  rein  ;  in  get- 
ting it  up,  dropped  my  whip.  Some  people  standing  about 
won't  see  it.  Horses  and  hounds  a  long  way  on.  I  think 
Milburd  or  Byng,  as  I  'm  his  guest,  might  have  stopped 
for  me.  Very  selfish. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Get  off  and  pick  it  up. 


278  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

If  I  get  off  I  shall  have  to  get  up  again.  Perhaps  he 
won't  stand  still.  I  am  all  alone  ;  every  one  has  disap- 
peared, except  a  few  pedestrians  who  have  been  watching 
the  sport  from  the  top  of  this  hill.  Hate  these  sort  of  idle 
people  who  only  come  out  to  see  accidents  and  laugh  at 
any  one  if  he  can't  get  on.  I  have  n't  got  the  slightest 
idea  as  to  where  I  am.  What  county  ?  How  far  from 
Byng's  ?  The  horse  seems  to  me  to  be  trembling,  probably 
from  excitement.  He  stretches  his  head  out.  What 
power  a  horse  has  in  his  head,  he  nearly  pulled  me  off. 
He  shakes  himself  violently.  Very  uncomfortable.  Per- 
haps he  's  rousing  himself  for  another  effort.  I  have  seen 
a  "  Magic  Donkey  "  (I  think)  of  pasteboard,  in  the  shop 
windows  ;  when  the  string  is  loose,  the  head  and  tail  fall. 
It  occurs  to  me  that  my  horse  is,  at  this  minute,  like  the 
Magic  Donkey  with  the  string  loose. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Get  off. 

He  is  quivering  in  both  his  front  legs.  I  feel  it  like  a 
running  current  of  mild  electric  shocks.  Get  out  my  note- 
book. The  beast  seems  to  be  giving  at  the  knees.  I  don't 
know  much  about  horses,  but  instinct  tells  me  he  's  going 
to  lie  down.  Wonder  if  he  's  ever  been  in  a  circus  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Get  off  at  once. 

Off.  Just  in  time.  He  nearly  falls.  He  is  shivering  and 
quivering  all  over.  Poor  fellow !  Woa,  my  man,  woa, 
then,  poo'  fellow  !  I  have  got  hold  of  his  bridle  at  the  bit. 
His  eyes  are  glaring  at  me.  What  the  deuce  is  the  matter 
with  the  beast  ? 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  279 

Happy  Thought.  —  Is  he  going  mad  !  ! ! 

He  pulls  his  head  away  from  me  —  he  jerks  back .  he 
pulls  me  after  him.  I  try  to  draw  him  towards  me  :  he 
jerks  back  more  and  more.  His  bit 's  coming  out  of  his 
mouth.  Is  he  going  to  rear?  or  kick  ?  or  plunge  ?  or  bite 
me  ?  What  is  the  matter  with  him  ?  Is  there  such  a  thing 
as  a  lunatic  asylum  for  horses  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Ask  some  one  to  hold  him. 

Two  pedestrians  come  towards  me  cautiously,  an  elderly 
man  in  yellow  gaiters,  and  a  respectable  person  in  black. 
Horse  snorts  wildly,  grunts,  glares,  shivers,  jerks  himself 
back  ;  I  can't  hold  on  much  longer.  If  he  runs  away  he  '11 
become  a  wild  horse  on  the  downs,  and  I  shall  have  to 
pay  for  him.  Hold  on.  Apparently  he  's  trying  to  run 
away  backwards. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say  to  man  in  gaiters,  very  civilly, 
"  Would  you  mind  holding  my  horse  while  I  pick  up  my 
whip,"  as  if  there  was  nothing  the  matter.  He  shakes  his 
head,  grins,  and  keeps  at  a  distance.  In  his  opinion,  the 
horse  has  got  the  staggers. 

The  staggers  !  Good  heavens  !  I  ask  him,  "  Do  they 
last  long  ?  " 

"  Long  time,  generally,"  he  answers.  "  Will  he  fall  ?  "  I 
ask.  "Most  likely,"  he  answers.  "Then,"  I  ask  him, 
angrily,  "why  the  deuce  he  stands  there  doing  nothing? 
Wrhy  does  n't  he  get  a  doctor  ?  If  he  '11  hold  the  beast  for 
a.  minute,  7'11  run  to  the  village  for  a  doctor." 


280  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

He  says,  "  There  ain't  no  village  nearer  than  Radsfort, 
six  miles  from  here."  Then  I  '11  run  six  miles,  if  he  '11 
only  hold  my  horse.  He  won't, — obstinate  fool:  then 
what's  he  standing  looking  at  me  for,  and  doing  nothing? 
He  says  he  's  as  much  right  to  be  on  the  downs  as  I  have. 
The  horse  is  getting  worse  :  he  nearly  falls.  Ho  !  hold  up. 
He  holds  up  convulsively,  but  shows  an  inclination  to  fall 
on  his  side  and  roll  down  the  hill.  I  have  n't  got  the  small- 
est idea  what  I  should  do  if  he  rolled  down  the  hill. 

Happy  Thought  (which  strikes  the  Person  in  black},  — 
Loosen  his  girths. 

Happy  Thought  (which  strikes  me\  —  Do  it  yourself. 

He  won't,  —  the  coward.  He  says  he  's  afraid  he  '11  kick. 
Kick!  he  won't  kick,  I  tell  him.  I  think  I  should  feel  the 
same  if  I  was  in  his  place.  I  urge  him  to  the  work,  ex- 
plaining tnat  I  would  do  it  myself,  if  I  was  n't  holding  his 
head.  He  makes  short  nervous  darts  at  the  horse's  girths, 
keeping  his  eye  on  his  nearer  hind  leg.  I  encourage  him> 
and  say,  "  Bravo,  capital !  "  as  if  he  was  a  bull-fighter.  He 
loosens  one  girth.  Do  the  other  :  he  won't. 

Horse  still  shivering.  Now  he  is  dragging  away  from 
me,  and  trying  to  get  down  hill  backwards,  harder  than 
ever.  "  Staggers  "  are  like  hysterics.  What  do  you  do  to 
people  in  hysterics?  Cold  water,  vinegar,  —  hit  them  on 
the  palms  of  their  hands.  Man  behind  a  hedge,  about  a 
hundred  yards  distant,  who  has  been  looking  on  in  safety, 
halloes  out  some  advice  unintelligibly.  Why  does  n't  he 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  281 

come  close  up  ?  I  shout  back  irritably,  "  What  ?  "  He  re- 
peats, evidently  advice,  but  unintelligible.  It  sounds  like, 
"  If  you  arshy-booshy-marnsy-goggo  (unintelligible),  you  '11 
soon  make  him  balshybalshy  (unintelligible),  and  then  you 
can  easily  causheycoosheycaushey."  Why  on  earth  can't 
he  speak  plainly  ? 

I  can  only  return  irritably  and  excitedly  shouting  to  him, 
"  Wha-a-at  ?  What  do  you  say  ?  "  He  walks  off  in  the 
opposite  direction.  I  ask,  "  Who  is  that  man  ?  "  Nobody 
knows.  I  should  like  to  have  him  taken  up  and  flogged. 
No  change  in  the  horse's  symptoms.  Where  are  Byng, 
Milburd,  and  the  rest  ?  They  must  have  missed  me.  I 
think  they  might  have  come  back.  I  say,  bitterly,  "  Friend- 
ship ! "  Confound  the  horse,  and  the  Harriers,  and  every- 
body. Here,  hold  up ! 

Another  man  comes  up.  Tall  and  thin,  he  stands  with 
the  other  two,  and  stares  as  if  it  was  an  exhibition.  If 
there  is  one  thing  that  makes  me  angry,  it  is  idiots  staring, 
helplessly.  The  last  idiot  who  has  come  up  has  something 
to  say  on  the  subject  The  horse  is  shaking,  gasping ;  I 
know  he  '11  fall.  If  he  falls,  I  ;ve  heard  cabmen  say  in  Lon- 
don, "  sit  on  his  head." 

Prospect.  —  Sitting  on  his  head,  in  the  middle  of  the  bleak 
downs,  until  somebody  comes  who  knows  all  about  the 
staggers.  If  no  one  comes,  sit  on  his  head  all  night !  !  ! 

Happy  Thought  (which  suddenly  occurs  to  the  last  comer). 
- —  Cut  his  tongue. 

What  good  '11  that  do  ?    "  Relieve  him,"  he  replies.    Then 


252  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

do  it.  He  says  he  won't  undertake  the  responsibility.  He 
has  got  a  penknife,  and  I  may  cut  the  tongue,  if  I  like.  Cut 
his  tongue  !  does  n't  the  man  see  I  'm  holding  his  head,  —  I 
can't  do  everything.  He  replies  by  mentioning  some  vein 
in  the  horse's  tongue,  which,  if  cut,  instantly  cures  the  stag- 
gers. It  appears  on  inquiry  that  he  does  n't  know  where 
the  vein  is.  What  helpless  fools  these  country  people  are  ! 
I  thought  country  people  knew  all  about  horses! — What 
are  they  doing  on  the  downs  ?  Nothing.  Fools  :  I  hate 
people  who  merely  lounge  about.  Will  any  one  of  them  get 
a  doctor  ?  As  I  ask  this,  the  horse  nearly  falls.  A  plough- 
boy  arrives. 

Happy  Thought.  —  He  shall  hold  the  horse. 

I  ask  him :  he  grins :  what  an  ass !  I  command  him 
imperiously  to  hold  the  horse.  He  says,  in  his  dialect,  that 
he  can't.  "  Why  not  ? "  I  ask  ;  "  what  on  earth  can  he  be 
doing  ? "  He  replies,  "  Moind'nruks."  "  What  ? "  I  bel- 
low at  him.  "  Moind'nruks."  His  reply  is  interpreted  to 
me  by  the  yellow  gaiters  — •  the  boy  is  "  minding  rooks." 
The  boy  grins  and  shows  me  an  enormous  horse-pistol 
with  cap  on,  pointed,  under  his  arm,  at  me.  The  idea  of 
trusting  such  an  imbecile  with  a  pistol !  "  Turn  it  the  other 
way,"  he  grins.  " 'T  ain't  loaded."  He  explains  that  they 
only  give  him  a  cap,  —  no  powder.  "  Never  mind,  turn  it 
the  other  way." 

Happy  Thought.  —  If  the  long  thin  man  will  hold  my 
horse  while  I  go  to  Radsfort,  I  will  give  him  half  a  sovereign. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  283 

I  offer  this  diffidently,  because  he  is  such  a  respectable- 
looking  person. 

Respectable-looking  person  closes  with  the  offer  imme- 
diately. Yellow  gaiters  and  man  in  black  propose  to  show 
me  where  the  village  is :  for  money.  Is  this  the  noble 
English  character  that  we  read  of  in  the  villages  of  our 
happy  land !  Mercenary,  dastardly,  griping,  gaping  fools 
and  cowards  who  Ve  been  delighting  themselves  with  my 
miseries  for  the  last  hour,  merely  to  trade  upon  them  at  the 
last. 

Long  man  holds  the  horse.  The  beast  just  as  bad  as 
ever.  Don't  care  now:  got  rid  of  him.  Feel  that  all  the 
responsibility  is  on  the  long  man.  Wonder  what  the  long 
man  will  do  if  he  falls  on  his  side.  It 's  worth  ten  shillings 
to  be  free. 

Miserable  work  walking.     Beginning  to  rain. 

Man  on  horseback  coming  towards  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Byng's  groom.  I  can  imagine  the 
delight  of  a  shipwrecked  man  on  a  desert  island  on  seeing 
somebody  he  knows  rowing  towards  him.  He  has  come 
back  to  look  for  me.  He  is  on  his  master's  horse,  and  the 
ladies  and  his  master  are  in  the  pony  trap  in  the  road  just 
below.  The  ladies  ! 

Happy  Thought.  —  Be  driven  home.  Soft  cushions  : 
rugs. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

I  AM  DRIVEN  HOME.  —  THE   RETURN.  —  DELICIOUS   HALF- 
HOUR  BEFORE  DINNER. 

HE  ladies  in  the  trap  are  the  half-aunt  and  old 
Mrs.  Symperson. 


Happy  Thought.  —  Be  very  attentive  to  old 
Mrs.  Symperson.  Give  her  my  hand  when  she  gets  out. 
Make  her  feel  she  can't  do  without  me  as  a  son-in-law. 
Perhaps,  afterwards,  I  might  have  to  make  her  feel  that  I 
can  do  without  her  as  a  mother-in-law.  I  don't  think  so, 
though  :  nice  old  lady,  and  a  little  deaf. 

Driving  home  I  am  very  bitter  against  Brett,  who  could 
send  out  a  horse  with  the  staggers. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  staggers  might  take  something 
off  the  expense  of  hiring. 

In  the  carriage  the  ladies  say  he  oughtn't  to  charge  me 
anything :  I  agree  with  them,  but  feel  that  Brett's  opinion 
will  be  different.  Not  sure,  if  I  was  Brett,  if  I  should  n't 
charge  more.  I  shall,  I  say,  call  and  blow  Brett  up  se- 
verely. 

[When  I  do  call,  two  days  afterwards,  Brett  asks  me  how 
I  liked  the  mare.  I  say,  "  Well  enough,  if  she  had  n't  got 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  285 

the  staggers.  He  is  not  surprised,  and  makes  no  apology. 
While  receipting  my  bill,  he  pauses  to  observe  that  "  if  I  'd 
ha'  lost  that  chestnut  it  would  ha'  been  a  matter  of  a  hun- 
dred pounds  out  of  my  pocket,"  as  if  it  would  have  been  a 
matter  of  a  hundred  pounds  out  of  my  pocket. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say,  "  Would  it,  indeed  ?  "  and  look  at 
my  watch,  —  gives  a  notion  of  being  pressed  for  time. 
Won't  discuss  this  question  of  a  hundred  pounds  any 
further.  Go. 

"  Will  I  hunt  with  the  Croxley  to-morrow  ?  "  he  wants  to 
know.  "  He  's  got  just  the  thing  to  suit  me  :  I  can  throw 
my  leg  over  her  and  try  her  now."  I  have  n't  time :  I 
should  like  to  hunt  with  the  Croxley  immensely.  "Nice 
fencing  country,  and  a  brook  or  two."  Very  sorry  can't, — 
let  him  know  when  I  '11  hunt  again.  Good  morning,  Mr. 
Brett.  I  'm  sure  he  regrets  not  having  charged  me  extra 
for  the  staggers.] 

In  the  Pony  Trap,  driving  home.  —  The  half-aunt  ex- 
presses her  wonder  that  gentlemen  can  find  pleasure  in 
such  a  dangerous  pastime  as  hunting.  I  smile,  as  much  as 
to  convey  the  idea,  "  Yes,  you  're  right,  but  we  are  such 
daring  dogs."  I  don't  say  this,  because  I  think  Byng  knows 
I  did  n't  go  over  the  first  hedge.  Mrs.  Symperson  is  of 
opinion  that  married  men  oughtn't  to  risk  their  lives.  I 
agree. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Always  agree  with  Mrs.  Symperson. 
Say  pointedly,  "  When  I  am  married  I  shall  never  hunt 
again,  but  settle  down  comfortably  somewhere."     At  the 


286  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

present  moment  I  can't  fancy'  settling  down  comfortably 
anywhere.     Don't  say  this  :  feel  it.     I  do  feel  it. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say  to  her  mother  that  Miss  Fri- 
doline  seems  to  enjoy  being  on  horseback.  Praise  her 
appearance. 

Say  she  is  very  like  her  mamma.  [Byng  tells  me  after- 
wards that  this  sounded  fulsome.  Must  take  care  not  to  be 
fulsome.]  Mrs.  Symperson  says,  "she  was  very  fond  of 
riding  when  s/te\va.s  young."  I  reply,  "that  I  should  think 
so."  By  the  way,  I  should  n't  think  so  if  she  was  n't  Fri- 
doline's  mamma.  She  is  pleased. 

Byng,  flicking  the  pony,  asks  me  if  I  feel  pretty  fresh. 
Before  the  half-aunt  and  Mrs.  Symperson  I  can't  say  more 
than  that  I  am  pretty  fresh,  considering  I  have  n't  ridden 
for  years. 

"Stiff?"  asks  Byng.  I  am  surprised  at  Byng:  such  a 
question!  "Loins?"  continues  Byng.  I  am  astonished 
at  Byng :  before  Mrs.  Symperson  too  !  I  reply  "  No,"  as 
if  I  had  n't  any  loins. 

[Note  for  "  Reticence  of  Politeness."  Typical  Develop- 
ments, Vol.  XX.  Book  LI.,  Par.  ».] 

Driving  up  to  the  house.  Butler,  servants,  whole-uncle, 
and  Mr.  Symperson  out  to  meet  us. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Subject  for  picture,  Return  from  the 
Chase.  Wave  my  hand  to  them,  as  if  I  'd  just  come  up 
triumphantly,  after  flying  over  five-barred  gates  and  stiff 
fences.  Wish  I  knew  if  Byng  had  or  had  not  seen  me  in 
the  first  field.  Painful  getting  out  of  the  trap.  Quite  for- 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  287 

got  to  give  my  arm  to  Mrs.  Symperson.  The  whole-uncle 
asks  if  we  've  had  good  sport.  I  answer,  deprecatingly, 
"  Pretty  well,"  to  give  the  old  coward  who  's  been  in  his 
arm-chair  all  day  an  idea  that  it 's  not  the  sort  of  sport  /'ve 
been  accustomed  to ;  as,  indeed,  it  is  not. 

Mrs.  Symperson  notices  that  I  walk  lame.  From  a  fall? 
She  is  anxious.  I  say,  "  No,  not  from  a  fall."  Fridoline, 
who  has  entered  the  hall,  expresses  her  anxiety  too.  I 
almost  wish  it  had  been  a  fall.  If  I  say  "  stiffness,"  it  will 
flatten  the  excitement. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say,  "  O  no,  nothing  at  all,"  and 
smile.  They  '11  think  I  've  been  over  a  precipice,  and  am 
bearing  it  heroically. 

In  my  room.  —  Warm  bath,  at  Byng's  suggestion,  before 
dinner.  Looking  in  the  glass  ;  I  am  an  object.  Collar 
nowhere.  Tie  anywhere  and  anyhow. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Scarf,  next  time  I  ride;  with  a  pin 
in  it 

My  face  is  such  a  curious  color,  a  muddy  yellow.  Wish 
I  'd  come  up  to  my  room  at  once,  instead  of  stopping  in 
the  hall.  How  different  to  when  I  started.  Meditate  on 
this,  before  the  glass  ;  "  So  in  life,  we  set  out  gayly  and 
briskly  (as  I  did  on  the  chestnut),  we  go  on  —  we  go  on  — 
odd  :  —  lost  the  simile."  The  footman  comes  in  with  hot 
water.  He  is  familiar,  in  consequence  of  that  dressing  up 
as  a  German  friend  the  other  day.  He  says,  "  I  suppose 
you  ain't  much  accustomed  to  riding  a-horseback,  sir  ? " 
I  should  like  to  put  him  on  a  wild  Arab  in  a  desert :  hate 


288  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

familiarity.  Tell  him  to  call  me  in  time  for  dressing.  He 
is  now  going  to  sound  thejirst  gong.  That 's  an  hour  be- 
fore dinner. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Cup  of  tea.  Toast  ?  suggested  by 
footman.  Amendment  adopted. 

How  delicious  (in  bath)  is  this  dreaminess.  All  dangers 
of  the  day  past  and  gone.  I  feel,  triumphantly,  that  I  have 
seen  a  hare  killed.  I  should  like  to  hunt  every  day.  At 
least,  I  should  like  to  enjoy  a  bath,  tea  and  toast  like  this, 
every  day. 

Happy  Thought.  —  When  I  go  up  to  town  again  practise 
leaping  in  hunting-grounds,  so  much  a  lesson.  Don't  be- 
lieve Dick  Tut-pin,  on  Black  Bess,  ever  cleared  a  turnpike- 
gate. 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  could  clear  a  turnpike-gate  —  with 
a  ticket.  Wish  I  'd  said  this  in  conversation  :  brilliant : 
need  n't  have  said  anything  else  for  a  whole  evening.  Note 
it  down  when  I  'm  out  of  my  bath.  Read  a  book  recom- 
mended by  Fridoline,  with  her  name  in  it  Novel.  Read 
Fridoline's  name  again.  Drowsy.  If  I  don't  take  care  I 
shall  be  asleep.  *  *  *  * 

Happy  Thought.  —  Dressing-gown  :  arm-chair.  Plenty 
of  time  before  dinner  —  delicious  drowsiness.  *  *  *  * 
Footman  enters  :  I  have  been  asleep.  Referring  to  my 
watch,  same  time  as  when  I  was  in  my  bath  :  stopped. 
They  've  begun  dinner. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Say,  "  I  '11  be  down  directly." 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

DRESSING    IN   A   HURRY.  —  I    MAKE    LOVE    AT    DINNER.  — 
AN   APPOINTMENT.  —  "BEGINNING   OF   THE  END." 

I  HEY  have  sent  my  evening  clothes.  Show  how 
different  I  look  to  when  Fridoline  last  saw  me, 
in  mud  and  those  abominable  antigropelos. 
Ought  to  be  able  to  dress  in  ten  minutes. 
Heroes  in  novels,  Walter  Scott's  or  James's,  always  do  it, 
with  armor  too.  Tubs  unknown  to  men  in  armor,  unless 
they  took  it  in  breastplates  and  sponged  over  a  cuirass. 
Then  how  about  towels  afterwards?  —  interesting  subject 
opened  up.  Wish  I  had  n't  opened  it  up  now  as  footman 
comes  in  to  say,  "  Fish  just  on,  sir."  Note  down  the 
above  for  Typical  Developments — chase  —  armor  —  towels. 
*  *  *  *  Wonder  if  I  shall  recollect  what  this  means. 

Just  ready.  Bother  —  no  dress  boots.  Of  course,  when 
in  a  hurry  I  can  only  see  those  infernal  antigropelos  lying 
about.  My  bell  is  not  attended  to  —  and,  hang  it,  no  white 
ties. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Byng's  white  ties. 

Bell  again  :  wish  some  one  would  answer  it,  I  should 
have  been  down  by  now.  Just  like  those  servants,  —  don't 
like  to  ring  again  —  must.  Hard:  it  is  a  rope-bell.  Old- 
13  s 


290  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

fashioned  thing  —  breaks.     What  shall  I  do  now  if  they 
don't  come  ?    They  don't  come  :   I  do  nothing. 

Happy  Thought. —  Stand  on  the  drawers  and  pull  at  the 
wire.  After  a  hard  day's  riding  it  is  n't  easy  to  climb  about. 
When  I  am  on  the  drawers  the  footman  comes  in.  I  feel 
as  if  I  ought  to  apologize  for  being  so  impetuous.  Without 
any  explanation  I  say,  "  Dress  boots  :  and  will  he  get  me 
one  of  his  master's  ties  ?  "  This  last  request  sounds  un- 
principled. He  returns  with  my  boots.  Master  has  n't  got 
any  :  he 's  wearing  his  last. 

Happy  Thought  (which  strikes  the  footman).  —  He  will 
lend  me  one  of  his,  if  it  will  do. 

Don't  like  to  refuse.  Thanks,  yes.  He  gets  it.  As 
folded  it  is  about  double  the  thickness  of  my  waistcoat. 
Very  long.  Difficulties.  After  first  attempt,  the  ends  stick 
out  straight  three  inches  on  each  side.  Methodist  preacher. 
Try  it  double  :  result  in  appearance,  gentleman  with  mumps. 
Third  attempt,  tie  it  in  very  broad  bow,  so  as  to  absorb  the 
length.  Result,  comic  nigger  who  does  the  bones.  Alto- 
gether a  sort  of  entertainment.  Tie  becoming  creased 
and  limp. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Not  in  a  bow  at  all.  Once  round,  and 
hide  the  ends. 

At  the  last  moment  it  strikes  me  I  want  shaving. 

Happy  Thought.  —  No  one  will  notice  it. 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  291 

General  feeling  of  untidiness  somehow ;  but  a  strong 
sense  of  comfort  in  no  longer  wearing  breeches  and  anti- 
gropelos. 

Entrance  into  Dining-room.  —  Awkward.  Apologize. 
Byng  cuts  it  short.  As  I  am  going  to  my  seat  I  find  I  Ve 
left  my  pocket-handkerchief  up  stairs.  Uncomfortable. 

Dinner.  —  Place  left  for  me  next  to  Fridoline. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Explain  why  I  was  late  to  Fridoline. 
Opens  a  conversation. 

They  are  at  the  Third  Course ;  but  have  kept  soup  and 
fish  for  me.  Wish  they  had  n't.  Can't  refuse  it. 

Happy  Thought  (say  if  in  my  sporting  character).  —  Hard 
work  catching  up  people  over  a  soup  and  fish  course,  after 
giving  them  up  to  beef.  "There,"  says  Fridoline,  "you 
must  n't  try  to  talk."  I  look  round  at  her.  (Soup  on  my 
shirt  front.)  Not  talk  ?  Not  to  her?  Then  does  n't  she, 
I  ask,  wish  me  to  —  (wipe  it  off  quickly)  — "  Now  then, 
don't  be  shy,"  cries  Milburd  to  me.  I  nod  and  smile  at 
him.  Where  are  my  repartees  ?  I  should  like  to  be  a 
Pasha  for  just  one  minute.  I  'd  wave  my  hand,  and  the 
butler  and  footman  should  throw  a  sack  over  Milburd's 
head,  and  then  drop  him  into  the  Bosphorus.  He  is  so  rude 
and  thoughtless. 

[Happy  Thought  (when  I  am  going  to  bed).  —  I  know 
what  I  ought  to  have  said  to  Milburd  when  he  said  "  Don't 
be  shy."  I  ought  to  have  said  something  about  his  setting 


292  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

the  pattern,  or  that  he  should  n't  have  all  the  modesty  to 
himself..  This  is  n't  the  sharp  form  in  which  the  repartee 
should  come,  but  it 's  the  crude  idea.  Note  it  in  my  book, 
and  work  it  up.  Sheridan  did  it,  and  was  brilliant  at 
repartees.] 

After  the  beef  I  do  talk  to  Fridoline.  I  don't  know  ex- 
actly what  I  say.  I  think  once  I  say  I  hope  her  father  likes 
me  ;  I  praise  her  mother.  She  advises  me  to  make  great 
friends  with  her  mother.  I  will.  I  hope  that  I  shall  see 
her  after  she  leaves  here.  She  hopes  so  too.  I  hope  so 
again,  because,  really,  I  shall  be  quite  lonely,  —  I  don't 
mean  lonely,  I  mean,  melancholy,  without  her,  —  I  mean, 
after  she  's  gone.  Feeling,  perhaps,  that  I  have  gone  a 
little  too  far,  I  laugh.  The  laugh  spoils  the  whole  effect. 
She  will  think  I  am  not  in  earnest :  she  '11  think  I  'm  a 
mere  flirter. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  impress  this  upon  her.  Ask  her, 
"  You  think  I  am  not  in  earnest  ?  " 

She  asks,  "In  earnest  —  about  what?"  This  discon- 
certs me.  I  don't  like  to  say,  "  About  loving  you"  because 
there  's  a  pause  in  the  general  conversation,  and  we  two  are 
the  only  ones  talking.  The  pause  began  when  she  asked 
"  About  what  ? "  as  if  every  one  was  anxious  to  hear  my 
reply.  I  laugh  again,  arrange  my  fork  and  knife,  and  cast  a 
glance  round  to  see  if  any  one  's  listening.  I  catch  Mrs. 
Symperson's  eye  —  for  one  minute  :  she  looks  away  instantly. 

Happy   Thought.  —  Ask  Fridoline  if  her  mother  won't 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  293 

be  angry  with   her  about  our  talking  together  so  much. 
(This  is  nearer  the  mark,  though  1  put  it  diffidently.) 

0  no,  her  mother  is  never  angry  with  her. 

Happy  Thought.  —  To  say,  "  Who  could  be  ?  "  She  re- 
plies that  her  papa  can.  Here  the  subject  is  at  an  end,  as 
I  can't  abuse  her  father.  Silence  between  us.  Milburd 
telling  some  story,  making  old  Symperson  laugh  ;  every 
one  laughing.  Feel  awkward,  being  out  of  it,  Fridoline 
will  think  I  'm  dull  and  stupid.  Must  go  on  talking  :  can't 
start  a  subject.  Tell  her  that  I  am  in  earnest,  once  more. 
Expatiate  on  sympathies.  I  hope,  in  a  very  undertone,  to 
which  she  inclines  to  listen,  that  she  will  let  me  talk  to  her 
this  evening.  I  know  what  I  mean,  and  am  uncomfortably 
and  hotly  aware  that  I  don't  put  it  so  intelligibly  as  I  could 
wish.  She  replies,  "  Of  course  you  may."  "Ah,  but  I 
mean  I  wish  you  'd  let  me  see  more  of  you,  be  more  with 
you  —  "  She  wishes  I  would  not  be  so  foolish,  there  's  Mr. 
Milburd  and  papa  looking  this  way.  The  half-aunt  is  put- 
ting on  her  gloves,  and  going  to  nod  to  the  ladies. 

1  am  going  to  lose  her.     As  she  is  preparing  to  rise  she 
wants  to  know  if  I  've  seen  Mr.  Byng's  conservatory  lighted 
up.     I've  not, —  can   I  see  it  now?     Yes,  she'll  show  it 
me,  but   I   must  n't  stop  long  over  the  wine.     One  look. 
Byng  says  something  to  her  as  she  goes  out.     I  hope  he 
has  n't  put  me  out  of  her  head. 

Happy  Thought.  —  No.  She  half  turns  at  the  door. 
Half  catches  my  eye. 


294  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  Conservatory. 

Conversation  turns  on  Free-masonry.  Milburd  relates 
stories  of  masons  knowing  one  another  anywhere.  Byng 
tells  how  a  French  mason  met  a  Chinese  mason  in  battle, 
and  didn't  kill  him.  The  whole-uncle  says  he  recollects  a 
curious  case,  but,  on  trying  to  recall  details,  fails  ;  but,  any- 
how, it  is  admitted  on  all  hands  that  to  be  a  mason  is  a 
great  thing  when  abroad,  or  in  difficulties  anywhere. 

Happy  Thought.  —  In  difficulties  anywhere:  then  be  a 
mason  before  I  go  out  hunting  again.  Wonder  if  any  of 
those  men  who  were  looking  on  at  my  horse  in  his  staggers 
were  masons.  Perhaps  they  were  all  making  the  signs, 
and  I  didn't  know  it.  Wish  I  'd  been  one.  Ask  all 
about  it. 

Fridoline  will  expect  me.  Awkward  to  leave  the  table. 
Getting  fidgety.  Laugh  at  old  Symperson's  stories.  He  's 
telling  me  one  now  which  detains  me. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Left  my  pocket-handkerchief  up  stairs. 
Go  for  it. 

Promise  to  return  :  only  my  handkerchief. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Conservatory. 


CHAPTER    XL. 

END    OF    THE    BEGINNING.  —  MATCHED.  —  I    HAVE    AN    IN- 
TERVIEW  WITH    MY   MOTHER.  —  I   AM   MARRIED. 

\OETICAL  and  Happy  Thought.  —  "We  met, 
't  was  in  a  crowd,  and  I  thought  she  would 
shun  me  "  :  but  she  did  n't. 

We  are  all  alone :  in  the  Conservatory.  I 
don't  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  My  slightest  sen- 
tences are  intended  by  me  to  be  pregnant  with  tender 
meaning.  She  does  n't  see  it  I  say  I  could  stop  here 
(in  the  Conservatory)  forever.  Of  course  "with  you"  is 
to  be  understood.  She  answers  laughingly  that  she 
couldn't.  "With  )rou."  I  say  it.  (Nuisance,  when  I 
want  a  soft  tone,  I  only  get  a  gruff  whisper.)  "  Had  we 
not  better  return  to  the  drawing-room  ? "  she  suggests. 
A  few  minutes  more. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Call  the  Conservatory  a  Paradise. 

Wish  I  had  n't,  as  in  calmer  moments  I  reject  the 
simile.  "Will  you  give  me  that  flower*?"  I  don't  know 
its  name.  She  gives  it  to  me. 

Happy    Thought.  —  Detain  her  hand. 


296  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

Happier  Thought.  —  She  does  n't  withdraw  it. 

Happy  Thought.  —  "  Fridoline  !  "  I  have  her  permission 
to  call  her  Fridoline.  *  *  *  * 

Happy  Thoughts  !  Happy  Thoughts  !!  Happy  Thoughts  !!! 

I  think  I  am  speaking  :  she  speaks :  we  speak  together. 
A  pause.  O  for  one  Happy  Thought  now.  *  *  *  * 

"  May  I  ?"  Her  head  is  turned  away  from  me  :  slightly. 
She  does  not  move.  "  I  may  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  I  do. 

We  really  must  go  back  to  the  drawing-room.  She  will 
return  first.  I  will  follow  presently.  "  Once  more,  before 
we  separate  ?  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  Once  more  ! 

She  is  gone.  I  am  alone,  among  the  geraniums,  in  the 
Conservatory. 

I  can  only  say,  "  Dear  girl,"  in  confidence  to  the  gera- 
niums. It  seems  I  have  nothing  else  to  say.  I  am  stupefied. 
I  will  go  out  into  the  garden.  Cold  night  :  refreshing. 
Smile  at  the  stars.  Is  it  all  over  at  last  ?  Odd  :  stars 
beautiful.  Everything  is  lovely. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  in  and  brush  my  hair. 

Enter  the  drawfng-room.  Feel  as  if  I  was  coming  in 
with  a  secret.  Fridoline  at  the  piano.  Milburd  wants  to 
know  rudely  enough  where  the  dickens  I  've  been  to.  I 
despise  him  now.  He  is  harmless. 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  297 

Happy  Thought.  —  Talk  to  old  Mrs.  Symperson. 

Fridoline,  having  finished  playing,  comes  to  sit  down  by 
her  mamma.  Old  Mr.  Symperson  is  dozing  over  a  book. 
I  should  like  to  kneel  down  with  Fridoline  before  them  at 
once,  pull  his  book  away  to  wake  him  up,  and  say  she  is 
mine.  I  am  so  full  of  indistinct  Happy  Thoughts  that  I 
find  it  very  difficult  to  keep  up  a  conversation.  She  asks 
me  to  look  over  that  dear  old  photograph-book  again,  with 
her.  Milburd  wants  to  join  us  :  she  sends  him  away. 

At  night  in  my  room.  —  Try  to  write  Typical  Develop- 
ments. Can't.  Everything 's  Fridoline.  Try  to  make 
notes:  all  Fridoline.  Can't  get  to  sleep.  Relight  my  can- 
dle. Wonder  how  asking  the  parents'  consent  is  done. 
Must  do  it.  Put  out  my  candle.  Fridoline.  *  *  *  * 

Morning.  —  We  are  down  before  anybody  else,  and  out 
in  the  garden.  How  easy  it  is  to  talk  now  !  We  have  got 
one  common  object  in  view.  Apropos,  here  comes  Mil- 
burd. Fridoline  sends  him  in-doors  for  her  garden-hat. 
Poor  Milburd  !  As  to  parents'  consent,  Fridoline  must  tell 
mamma  at  once.  No  difficulties ;  they  're  so  fond  of  her.  I 
am  independent  of  every  one  :  even  my  mother.  Should 
like  to  introduce  Fridoline  to  my  mother.  *  *  *  * 

\st  Day.  —  Old  Symperson  procrastinates  :  Mrs.  Sym- 
person our  friend  and  ally. 

2nd  Day.  —  Old  Symperson  bothered.  Why  can't  he  say 
"  Yes,"  and  have  done  with  it  ? 

yd  Day.  —  Mrs.  Symperson  says  that  her  husband  is 
going  to  cut  short  their  stay  at  Byng's.  What  does  this 
mean  ? 

'3* 


298  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

&fth  Day,  —  Byng  tells  me  that  old  Symperson  has  been 
talking  to  him  about  me.  I  confide  in  Byng.  Byng  agrees 
with  me.  "  Why  does  n't  the  old  boy  "  (meaning  old  Mr. 
Symperson)  "  say  yes,  and  have  done  with  it  ?  " 

Byng  has  great  weight  with  old  Mr.  Symperson. 

End  of  the  Week.  —  Old  Mr.  Symperson  says  "  Yes," 
and  has  done  with  it. 

Mrs.  Symperson  begins  to  deprecate  any  haste.  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Symperson  having  both  said  "  yes,"  do  not  seem 
to  have  done  with  it  at  all.  Is  n't  it  sudden  ?  Do  we  know 
our  own  minds  ? 

This  is  infectious.  I  find  Fridoline  asking  me,  "  Are 
you  certain  you  know  your  own  mind?"  "Certain!"  I 
exclaim.  I  can  only  exclaim,  having  no  words  equal  to 
the  occasion. 

"  Will  you  always  love  me  ?    Never  be  sorry  for  "  *  *  *  * 

Happy  Thought.  —  Prevent  her  saying  any  more  for  the 
present. 

Being  released,  she  says,  "  But  seriously  —  " 

Happy  Thought.  —  Another  penalty. 
No  more  doubts. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Go  and  buy  presents  for  different  peo- 
ple. Write  to  my  mother.  Fridoline  says  I  must  go  and 
see  her.  The  Sympersons,  when  I  leave,  will  go  home. 
Then  I  am  to  come  with  my  mother,  and  spend  a  week  or 
so  with  them. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Romeo  and  Juliet.    "  To  part  is  such 


HAPPY    THOUGHTS.  299 

sweet  sorrow  that"  —  forget  the  rest,  —  but  think  it's 
something  about  not  going  home  till  morning  ?  Don't  care 
what  it  is  now.  Hang  Typical  Developments.  Bother 
note-books. 

My  mother  is  a  dear  old  lady.  She  is  much  given  to 
tears.  She  always  cries  when  she  sees  me ;  she  always 
has  done  so  ever  since  I  can  recollect,  and  she  invariably 
cries  when  I  go  away.  If  I  talk  to  her  on  any  subject  for 
more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  is  sure  to  cry.  I  find 
her  at  home,  and  well.  She  is  delighted  to  see  me,  and,  of 
course,  cries.  Where  have  I  been  ?  What  have  I  been 
doing  ?  I  tell  her  that  I  have  been  enjoying  myself  very 
much  lately,  and,  as  to  health,  have  never  been  better.  This 
intelligence  sends  her  off  again,  and  she  weeps  copiously. 
When  she  is  calm  again,  I  open  the  important  subject, 
gradually,  so  as  not  to  startle  her.  Had  I  told  her  that  I 
had  been  ordered  off  to  instant  execution  she  could  n't  have 
been  more  overcome.  It  brings  back  her  happiest  days; 
old  memories  ;  loving  young  faces  ;  kindly  words  ;  trustful 
looks  ;  passed  away,  gone.  We  are  silent :  gazing  on  the 
fire.  I  follow  her  in  her  retrospect.  I  am  the  last  of  all 
to  her.  A  portrait  hangs  upon  the  wall  :  I  have  often,  as 
a  boy,  heard  her  say  how  strong  the  likeness  is  between  us. 
From  it  she  turns  to  me  and  takes  my  hand  in  hers. 

"  My  dearest  mother  !  " 

She  has  done  with  retrospect,  and  is  looking  trustfully 
into  the  future. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  dear.  I  am  sure  you  have  chosen 
well :  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy." 


300  HAPPY   THOUGHTS. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Solicitor  (Seel  and  Seel,  Junior,  who 
is  becoming  quite  a  man  of  business)  done  with  altogether. 
Everything  settled.  My  mother  has  taken  to  Fridoline 
immensely,  and  Fridoline  to  her.  Old  Boodels  writes  to 
say  he  '11  be  delighted  to  be  best  man  on  the  occasion,  and 
has  actually  postponed  the  dragging  of  his  pond,  which 
was  to  have  been  done  on  the  very  day  of  my  wedding. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Plyte  Fraser  are  coming. 

Milburd,  it  is  arranged,  is  to  be  very  funny  at  the  break- 
fast. This  intelligence  makes  him  very  stupid  for  the  next 
few  days. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Have  my  hair  cut. 

Happy  Thought.  —  My  things  have  come  home  from  the 
tailor's  in  time.  Also  the  boots. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Look  over  the  Marriage  Service. 
Get  it  up  so  as  to  know  when  to  say  "  I  will  "  and  "  I  do," 
or  whatever  it  is. 

Happy  Thought.  —  The  ring. 

It  is  arranged  that  we  take  a  tour  on  the  Continent  for 
six  weeks.  At  the  end  of  that  time  the  old  folks  will  join 
us.  Where  ? 

Happy  Thought.  —  Paris. 

Byng  will  join  us  there  too  ;  so  will  Milburd.  Boodels 
would,  only  about  that  time  he  's  asked  a  few  friends  down 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  301 

to  drag  the  pond,  and  "  He  can't,"  he  says,  "  very  well  put 
them  off  again  ?     Can  he  ?  " 

In  the  summer  we  shall  come  back  to  England.  Little 
place  on  the  Thames,  where  I  tell  Fridoline  I  '11  teach  her 
to  sniggle  for  eels,  and,  when  she  's  tired  of  that,  she  shall 
dibble. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Summer  night  :  under  the  placid 
moon  :  together  :  in  a  punt :  dibbling. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Take  the  cottage  before  I  leave  Eng- 
land. We  go  down,  a  party  of  us,  and  visit  the  little  cot- 
tage, next  door  to  the  astronomer's,  who  used  to  tell  me  all 
about  Jupiter,  and  stop  the  earth's  motion.  He  may  stop 
it  altogether,  if  he  likes,  now.  What  do  I  care? 

Fridoline  and  I  walk  in  the  garden,  while  the  old  folks 
manage  the  business  for  us. 

At  the  end  of  the  garden  runs  the  river  higher  than  usual, 
it  being  winter-time.  There  are  two  strong  poles  stemming 
the  tide  and  fixed  by  a  chain  to  the  bank. 

Between  them  is  fastened  a  punt.  In  it  sits  a  man 
wrapped  up ;  he  is  fishing.  He  turns  his  left  eye  towards 
us  ;  we  recognize  each  other  at  a  glance.  I  have  but  one 
question  for  him  :  — 

"  Caught  anything  ?  " 

Back  comes  his  answer  as  of  old, 

"  Nothing." 

It  is  half  a  year  since  I  last  saw  him  in  the  same  place, 
in  the  same  punt,  with  the  same  rod,  and  the  same  answer. 


302  HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 

I  wonder  if  he  is  married  ?  Or  going  to  be  ?  No,  he  11 
never  catch  anybody  :  or  be  caught. 

Fridoline  is  charmed  with  the  place.  So  am  I.  So  are 
we  all. 

The  day  after  to-morrow  is  coming. 

The  Day.  —  Wake  up.  Something's  going  to  happen. 
What  ?  I  know :  I  'm  going  to  be  married.  Hope  I  have  n't 
overslept  myself.  Bother  breakfast.  Hope  nothing  will 
drop  on  my  trousers.  Byng  and  Milburd  come  in  with 
stupid  old  jokes  about  "  the  wretched  man  partook  of  a 
hearty  meal,"  "  the  wretched  man  thanked  Mr.  Jonas,  the 
governor  of  the  jail,  for  all  his  kindness,"  and  pretend  to 
treat  me  as  a  condemned  criminal.  It's  an  old  joke  of 
Eraser's,  and  I  tell  Byng  I  Ve  heard  it  done  before,  as  I 
did  when  the  summons  came.  Everybody  supernaturally 
cool  for  half  an  hour.  Everybody  suddenly  in  a  hurry,  and 
becoming  doubtful  as  to  the  time  "  by  their  watches." 

At  last. 

The  Church.  I  can  hardly  see  any  one,  at  least  to  dis- 
tinguish them.  If  left  to  myself  I  should  find  myself  lead- 
ing a  Bridesmaid  to  the  altar.  Every  one  appears  to  be 
dressed  like  every  one  else.  All  gloves  and  flowers.  Gen- 
tlemen in  difficulties  with  their  hats.  I  laugh  at  something 
somebody  says  :  I  ought  n't  to  laugh.  Nobody  seems  to 
recollect  that  we  are  in  a  church,  or  rather  in  the  vestry. 
The  Clergyman,  a  youngish-looking  man,  but  middle-aged, 
dashes  himself  suddenly  into  a  long  surplice,  and  looks 
round  defiantly,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  Come  on,  I  'm  ready 
for  any  number  of  you."  The  Clerk  says  something  to  him 


HAPPY   THOUGHTS.  303 

in  a  whisper,  and  he  replies  also  in  a  whisper.  An  idea 
crosses  my  mind  that  the  Clerk  is  starting  some  objection 
to  the  ceremony  at  the  last  moment.  It  is  all  right,  how- 
ever. The  Clerk  takes  charge  of  me;  I  surrender  myself 
to  him,  as  also,  very  mildly,  do  Byng  and  Milburd. 

This  is  the  last  thing  I  notice. 

The  Clergyman  is  saying  something  to  me  at  the  rails. 
I  don't  know  what  I  am  saying  to  the  Clergyman.  I  brought 
a  book,  but  somebody 's  taken  it,  or  it 's  in  my  hat.  I  am 
helpless  ;  the  Clergyman  does  with  me  just  what  he  likes  : 
tells  me  what  to  say,  and  I  say  it ;  tells  me  what  to  do  and 
I  do  it,  and  go  on  doing  it,  with  a  vague  sense  of  annoy- 
ance at  seeing  Byng's  hat  on  the  cushion,  and  at  feeling 
that  Byng  is  no  sort  of  help  to  me  in  an  emergency  of  this 
sort.  The  ceremony  is  disturbed  by  suppressed  sobs. 
It  is  my  mother,  in  a  pew.  Old  Mr.  Symperson  does  n't 
refuse  (as  I  had  some  idea  he  would  at  the  last  moment) 
to  give  Fridoline  away  to  me,  and  so  I  take  her  "  for  better 
for  worse,  for  richer  for  poorer,  till  death  us  do  part,"  and 
as  nobody  steps  out  (I  had  vaguely  expected  that  something 
of  this  sort  would  happen  at  the  last  moment)  to  stop  the 
proceedings,  I  and  Fridoline  are  man  and  wife. 

Happy  Thought.  —  Married. 


40888 


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BOSTON        | 

RO  B  E  RT  S   B  RO T  H    HI 


